Into the Woods
by TerraBeth
Summary: Post 4x17. Chuck and Serena find out about Dan and Blair, and hatch a scheme to break them up by revealing a long-kept secret from their past. C/S pre-pilot sex; ships C/B. DL; DR! T to start; M later. A lot of B, C, D, S, a little L, E and Dorota.
1. The Path is Straight

At the Empire Hotel bar.

* * *

"Come on, sis. I need you to focus."

Serena always got a bit too relaxed when she drank scotch—it made her brain a bit woozy, her body loose-limbed—but it seemed to have the opposite effect on Chuck. He was sitting with perfect posture, tracing the condensation on the bar with a finger. From the intense look in his eyes she knew that his mind was working programmatically—generating a plot, calculating its outcome, rejecting it, and moving on to the next. She, on the other hand, was having trouble thinking at all. Seeing Dan and Blair together was so outside the realm of belief—so contrary to everything she knew and loved—so deeply, horribly wrong—she felt like her entire world had gone topsy-turvy, and nothing mattered or made any sense any more.

"I'm sorry, Chuck," she said, rubbing her eyes. "I'm just so out of it."

"Let me remind you that we share a common objective," Chuck said. "We must destroy this unholy union as soon as humanly possible."

"Trust me, I couldn't agree with you more," Serena morosely replied. She tilted her glass, and drained it.

"So help me out here. You've barely said a word tonight. I know you're no Blair Waldorf, but you're not exactly a dilettante when it comes to the art of scheming. All you've done is shoot down my ideas. So please. _Try_ to contribute."

"Okay," Serena said. "Maybe…we should take a psychological approach." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized that she had no idea what she was talking about.

"What do you mean?" Chuck asked.

"Well— Her mind raced. If only there were an _Idiot's Guide_ to breaking up a couple. A guide. A book. Suddenly she remembered her reading for last week's literature class. _Othello_. "We try to figure out how we should make them feel—so that they lose interest in each other. That's what we want, right?"

Chuck was quiet for a moment, and then he nodded several times. "That sounds really good, actually."

"Thanks," Serena said, a little surprised at the praise.

"I said it _sounds_ good, _sis_, but that's not enough. The question is, _how_ do we need to make them feel so that they realize their little experiment needs to end. _Immediately_."

"Well, we need to figure out how to make them feel, you know, angry. Jealous. Disgusted with each other." Serena thought about Othello. He was insecure about the color of his skin, his place in Venetian society, and, most of all, his beautiful young wife. All Iago had to do was whisper a rumor into his ear. "The question we need to answer is—how are they _weak?_"

Chuck looked at her, wide-eyed. "Impressive strategy, sis. Have you been taking a business class or something?"

"No. Elizabethan tragedy."

Chuck stared at her for a beat. "Okay. Profiles. Blair."

"Well, Blair's in a transitional period right now. She's on this whole powerful woman kick. She wants…to reinvent herself. To be independent. So…maybe she doesn't feel as close to us anymore. The question is, how to make her realize—"

"—that that's not a good thing," Chuck finished.

"That she needs us," Serena said, looking into his eyes. "_Not_ Dan."

"Perfect," Chuck said, refilling his glass. "What about Humphrey?"

"Dan…you know, I think he's still a bit pissed at me. For…not choosing him."

"I thought you did choose him."

"I _did_," she insisted, "but then the whole Ben thing got in the way. I don't know. Maybe he went after Blair to get back at me."

"I don't get it. They always loathed each other," Chuck said. "But it was nothing like the hatred that Blair and I shared, you know, the kind that ends in explosive, mind-bending sex—"

Serena wrinkled her nose.

"It was the hatred of people from two different worlds and absolutely no desire to build a bridge between them," Chuck continued. "People who hate everything that the other person represents." He sipped his scotch. "If Dan Humphrey is going after Blair Waldorf, he must have been doing some reinventing of late, too."

"Yeah, he reinvented himself, all right," Serena said, "into a total asshole. You wouldn't believe what a jerk he was to Ben."

Chuck's eyes lit up. "We have to make him disgusted with the person he's become," he said.

Serena's jaw dropped. "Chuck, that's really good. You're right. But…how do we do that?"

"I've almost got it," Chuck said. "Who does he hate more than anyone?"

"Well, no offense," Serena said. "But…you. Obviously."

"And he's going after my ex," Chuck continued. "So what does that make him?" His voice trailed off, and then he looked at Serena with wide eyes. "Oh my God. Serena," he said. "I've got it."

"What?"

"It's like it was predetermined by a higher power," Chuck said in an awestruck tone. "Something out there knew we would find ourselves in this situation one day. It's…_providential_. It's miraculous."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's the perfect fucking plan."

"Chuck, come on," Serena said. "Tell me. I'm on the edge of my seat."

To her surprise, he leaned in towards her, reached out his hand and began to stroke the underside of her wrist. "Do you _happen_ to remember," he purred, "what you were doing five years ago tonight?"

"Uh, no," Serena said. "Chuck, come on. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Think a little harder," Chuck said. "Try to remember…the special times we've shared."

Her eyes widened. "_No_."

"Yes."

"That can't be right. No. How would you even remember that?"

"Did you really think that I could ever forget the sensation of Serena van der Woodsen's thighs against the sides of my head?" Chuck said. "Her knees wrapped around my shoulders? Her face in ecstasy? On the contrary. For years I cherished it as one of my choicest sexual memories."

"Eww, Chuck!"

"Look, sis, relax. I haven't turned to it in my...hour of need for some time now. At least not since you officially became my sister. But that doesn't mean that I developed selective _amnesia_."

"Well, you should have. We had a solemn vow to never, _ever_, speak of that night again."

"And it's a good thing that we didn't," Chuck said. "Because now is the perfect time to tell the world about it."

Serena stood up. He grabbed her arm. "Look, hear me out," he said.

"There is no fucking way we're sending this to Gossip Girl, Chuck."

"Listen," he wheedled. "It's perfect. We all know how Gossip Girl gets her kicks."

"Uh, by ruining people's _lives_?"

"By creating the biggest sensation possible. That's why she sometimes withholds information in order to release it at a more strategic time. Now, if we drop this now—it won't look like a response to the current situation."

"It'll look like one of Gossip Girl's productions," Serena said slowly.

"Right," Chuck said. "And what's more spectacular than the five-year anniversary of Serena van der Woodsen's first orgasm?"

"First of all, you're a pig." Serena said. But she was already sitting back down again, her mind beginning to whirr. "But you're right. She won't be able to resist it."

Chuck smiled.

"And you're right about the date, too," Serena continued. "No one will think that we're the ones who leaked it."

"Mm-mm," Chuck said, wagging a finger. "Dan will. That's why I'm going to stage a run-in with him. He'll accuse me of making up the rumor, I'll inform him that it's true…and then I'll take it one step further."

"How?"

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but Dan Humphrey has something of a pattern when it comes to women. Georgina, Vanessa, Blair…and you."

"All women you've slept with."

"And why do you think that is?"

"Um, because you're such manwhore that it's pretty much impossible to find anyone on the Upper East Side who you _haven't_ slept with?"

"No—well, yes," Chuck said, "but that's not the point. I'll tell him that he's unconsciously obsessed with me. That he wants to be Chuck Bass. And that's why he's going after Blair."

"Chuck, that's ridiculous."

"Oh, I agree. But who cares? Once he hears that Chuck Bass slept with the love of his life, he won't be able to think straight. Trust me—a fragile mental state combined with circumstantial evidence is a compelling combination. Even if it weren't true, planting a seed of doubt would be enough for our purposes."

"Yeah—just like _Othello_!" Serena said. "That's totally what I've been thinking about this entire time."

"What are the hell are talking about?"

Serena stared at him for a beat. "Wow. You really did skip a lot English class to smoke up in the courtyard when you were at St. Jude's, didn't you?"

Chuck shot her a disgruntled look. "_Any_ways," he said, "Humphrey will pretend not to believe me, and then he'll go to you."

"And I'll confirm?"

"Yes. And from that moment onwards, every time he looks at Blair—all he'll see is me." He drained his glass.

"What about Blair?" Serena asked. "How do we handle her?"

Chuck frowned and reached again for the decanter. "She'll be upset."

"I'll reassure her, tell her it's ancient history—"

"—And that you understand _why_ she's upset," Chuck finished.

"She'll be upset at me for hooking up with _you_," Serena said, "so she'll feel guilty that _she_ hooked up with Dan."

Chuck nodded. "And hopefully she'll finally realize who she really wants to be with. Me."

"You're right," Serena said. "It really is the perfect plan."

"What about collateral damage?"

"Um, our _reputations_?"

"Already shot to hell," he returned.

Serena sighed. "True."

"The only thing I'm worried about is Lily," Chuck said, frowning. "Does she still read Gossip Girl?"

"No, giving it up was her New Year's resolution this year," Serena said with a laugh. "But Erik reads it. He'll be weirded out for sure."

"You think he'll tell her?"

"I dunno. Maybe."

"You think they'll get over it?"

"Well, it's not like they haven't had plenty of practice," Serena said. "I mean, hello—me and Dan? Also stepsiblings."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Then it's settled," Chuck said.

"Yep."

"You want to do the honors?" he asked.

Serena whipped out her phone, tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear, and took a deep breath. Her thumbs danced over the keypad, and then hovered over the send button.

"Do you want me to see it through?" Chuck asked.

"No," Serena said. She pushed the button.

"To love and happiness forever," Chuck said, lifting his glass.

"Love and happiness forever," Serena repeated, clinking her glass against his.

They drank and set their glasses down on the bar, and they sat for a few moments in silence.

Then they heard the familiar chime. Even though they were expecting it, it still made their stomachs drop, their hearts thump in their chests. Serena fumbled in her pocket for her phone.

"I _knew_ she wouldn't be able to wait," Chuck crowed. "What does it say?"

Serena held out her phone between them. There were their yearbook portraits from sophomore year, photoshopped together—Serena wearing eyeliner, her mouth open in a laughing grin, Chuck with artfully tousled hair, smirking.

"God, we look so young," Serena said, a little dismayed.

Underneath the picture was the blast:

**Gather 'round, children—have I got a juicy gossip blast from the past for you. **

**It's no secret that Serena van der Woodsen likes to keep it in the family, but I bet none of you knew about the intimate evening she shared with her stepbrother five years ago to the day. Oh no—I'm not talking about Dan Humphrey. I'm talking about her _other_ stepbrother.**

**Turns out the infamous Chuck Bass bedded our favorite blonde beauty when they were only fifteen years old. And while he didn't get her V-card, we hear he was the first—the first to see her _O-face_, that is. Rumor has it the bass is quite the expert when it comes to swimming _down_stream—if you know what I mean.**

**Ta-ta, children. You know you love me.**

**xoxo,**  
**Gossip Girl**

Chuck stared at the blast for a few seconds. "It's perfect," he declared. "Even better than I thought it would be."

Serena didn't say anything.

"What, you don't like it?" he asked. "I like it."

"Of course _you_ like it. You come off like Casanova. I sound like a psycho-slut who likes to sleep with my stepbrothers."

"Well, she did call you a 'blonde beauty,'" Chuck said. "That's good—right?"

"Hm."

"I think it's great. Humphrey is going to lose his shit," Chuck said. His eyes rescanned the last few lines of the post. "I like that 'swimming downstream' thing," he added. "That's pretty clever."

"You know," Serena said, "I always wonder when she's going to run out of bass puns. But they just keep coming, don't they?"

* * *

More chapters on their way. In the meantime, I'd love your thoughts.


	2. Black of Heart

At the Palace restaurant.

* * *

"Good Morning, Mr. Bass. Your usual?"

"No, no, Mortimer," Chuck muttered, rubbing his eyes. He still couldn't believe that he actually managed to wake up, shower, shave, make himself presentable, and get to the Palace in time for an endless succession of business meetings that he wasn't entirely sure he was going to be able to endure. He took some satisfication in the fact that he was immaculately dressed in spite of the fact that he felt like shit warmed over. "I don't think I can handle any solid foods today. Just a cup of coffee—black—and a big glass of water—no ice, please—and a couple Aleve. Hopefully I'll be able to keep them down."

"A long night, sir?"

"The longest in history."

Chuck had had a quite a night. After the Gossip Girl blast went out, he and Serena had decided to have another drink to celebrate their brilliant scheme. One drink quickly became two, and two became three, and they had continued to sit at the Empire bar until the Empire bar was closed, downing glass after glass until they were barely able to speak, much less make out what the other was saying. Still, Chuck vaguely remembered some of their conversation…

"_I luuhhhve Blaaair," he slurred._

"_I knnooow," Serena droned, putting her arm around him in what was intended to be a comforting fashion. "I luhhhve Daan." _

"_Noooo," he said, trying to finish his glass of scotch and instead sloshing the liquid onto his shirt collar. "Serena, you don' unnerstan'. I LUHHHVE—"_

_At this point he accidentally leaned back too far, and toppled, along with his barstool, onto the floor._

Chuck tenderly poked at the massive bruise on his back, and winced. Ugh. Today was going to be a very long day.

"Here you are, sir."

"Thank you, Mortimer," he said. He tossed the Aleve onto the back of his tongue and washed them down with the glass of water, which he drained in three big gulps. He closed his eyes, rubbed his temples, and exhaled loudly.

When he opened them, Dan Humphrey was standing in front of him.

Chuck blinked once or twice, and then quickly assessed the situation. One side of Dan's shirt collar was poking up, he hadn't shaved, and he looked absolutely livid. He had obviously seen the Gossip Girl blast shortly after he had woken up and had hightailed it to the Palace. Well, at least he wouldn't have to arrange an "accidental" run-in with him later. Still, he couldn't help but wish that Dan had come at a better time—at the very least, after he had managed to choke down a cup of coffee.

"Humphrey," he said with evident distaste. "What are you doing here?"

"You know, it's—" (here Dan paused and blinked several times) "—nice, Chuck, real nice, to know that you are literally capable of doing _anything_ in order to manipulate people so that you can get whatever you want. You—you know, you really should be the writer, not me. You've got a definite flair when it comes to fiction. Just so long as you keep to the genre you do best—you know, _fantasy?_—I have a feeling you'll really be quite successful."

"Humphrey—stop." Chuck closed his eyes and held out his hand as if he were warding off an offensive ghost. "What the hell are you talking about." Actually, maybe the hangover was for the best. It was really helping him to summon up the proper attitude—a one-to-one mixture of vague annoyance and utter disinterest.

"Oh, I think you know, Chuck."

"Please. Enlighten me." Chuck's eyes panned across the dining room. "But if you insist upon making a scene—" (he gestured towards the chair opposite him) "—at least sit down first. There'll be more of a dramatic impact when you stand up and throw your chair down on the floor."

"You—you're really going to play it this way?" Dan stammered. He glanced at the empty seat, shook his head, and sat down in it. "Okay, fine," he said in a lower voice. "I want you to look at this." He turned on his phone and slid it across the table. Chuck sighed, picked it up, and began to move his eyes back and forth as if he were reading.

Dan rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on," he said, and reached out to grab the phone back.

"Hold your horses, Humphrey," Chuck said, jerking the phone out of Dan's range. "I'm not done reading yet, and I'm just getting to the good part."

"Give me a fucking break. Are you seriously going to pretend that you aren't responsible for this?"

"Wait one more second—and I'll tell you." Chuck scrolled down to the end of the post. Then he let out a disbelieving sound, blinked, and slid the phone over to the other side of the table, looking at Dan with what he hoped was a neutral expression.

"I can't believe it," Dan said. "You really have nothing to say?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Um, the truth? That you know about the thing—the thing that I know that you know about? So you sent this bullshit story to Gossip Girl in order to throw me off?

"First of all, _I_ didn't leak this."

Dan scoffed. "Uhh, somehow—I don't know why—I'm finding it difficult to believe—"

"_Secondly_," Chuck interrupted, "it happens to be true." He looked at Dan, whose mouth was agape, and shrugged. "Sorry—I know that you still have strong feelings for Serena. Now if you'll excuse me—"

"You're full of shit," Dan said.

"Jesus, Humphrey." Chuck made a pained expression and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You are a lying, manipulative son of a bitch who will stop at nothing to—"

"Humphrey. Shut up for a second. You really don't know why you're here?"

"Oh—um, no. But I'm guessing that now it's _my_ turn to be enlightened."

"You didn't need to come here to get the truth out of me. You already knew that it was true. Face it, Humphrey. You felt it in your bones."

"Uh, actually—no. But I may have felt it in my—I dunno, intestine? Colon? Some organ whose primary function is to process _shit_?"

"Look. It was years ago. We were just two kids having fun. It was completely casual. It didn't mean anything. It was just once. What more do you want me to say."

"I—" Dan smiled and shook his head skeptically. "I don't believe you. I just don't believe you."

"Humphrey, I couldn't care less," Chuck said, turning over his wrist and glancing at his Rolex. "You know what? I'm tired, I have a headache, and I'm going to be in back-to-back meetings till 3. I would love nothing more right now than for you go off and investigate Gossip Girl's latest blast on your _own_ time and to stop wasting mine. Your little obsession with me is really starting to get on my nerves. It's not like I can really blame you—I mean, if I were Dan Humphrey, I'd want to be Chuck Bass too—but still, it's grown tiresome. Goodbye."

"I—what? _I'm _obsessed with _you_? Are you kidding me?"

"Am I mistaking you for someone else? Wasn't it you that followed me around the city like a little lost doggy? Who wrote a _short story_ in which I was the central character?"

"Okay, you know what, that short story was a _critique_, okay? And—"

"—and subsequently wormed his way from the inconsequential outer boroughs into Upper East Side society?"

"Hey—I can't control who my father marries—"

"_Whom_," Chuck corrected. "Better brush up on that grammar, Hemingway."

"Chuck—" Dan let out an ironic laugh. "I am not obsessed with you. In fact, I am so not obsessed with you that it—isn't even funny. I barely think about you at all except when you do something to hurt a person that I love, which, unfortunately, is a pretty frequent occurrence."

"Yeah? You know what else is a pretty frequent occurrence? You know, at first I thought it was a coincidence, but then I've realized—you really seem to gravitate towards my sloppy seconds, Humphrey. Georgina. Vanessa. Serena. And now, of all people, _Blair_. There are a million women living in Manhattan, and you choose to pursue _Blair Waldorf_. Why do you think that is?"

"Okay, you know what? First of all—Georgina—okay, didn't know about that. Gross. Okay. And Serena—we both know that's bullshit—"

Chuck rose from his seat, buttoned his suit jacket and began to edge his way around the table. "It's not bullshit, Humphrey. It's true. If you don't believe me, go talk to Serena. You know—the _other_ person who was there that night. Now, I really do have to go. Oh, but before I do—" He licked his lips. "Humphrey. The next time you see Blair, I want to you to remember something. I have explored every inch of that woman's body. I have plumbed the depths of her soul. Wherever she is, I am; when you touch her, you're touching me. She doesn't just belong to me—she _is_ me. And don't you forget it."

He paced out of the dining room without looking back. As soon as he was in the elevator he reached into his pocket, took out his phone, and pressed a button. Serena answered on the fourth ring.

"You _already_ talked to Dan? How'd it go?"

"Swimmingly, sis. Even better than I'd planned. I do have to ask you a favor, though."

"What's that?"

"Well. When you talk to him—and you _will_ talk to him—look, be gentle. I said some pretty nasty things."

"Are you getting soft on me, Bass?"

"Oh, come on now. Good cop, bad cop. It's classic strategy."

"I just want us both to get what we want," Serena said.

"Well, don't worry," Chuck said, checking out his reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator. He adjusted his tie; he swept back a loose strand of pomaded hair. "We will."

* * *

In the next chapter: Serena talks (or tries to talk) to Blair, and Dan Humphrey turns up at their apartment, demanding answers. Thanks for the reviews on the first chapter—keep 'em coming!


	3. A Changed Woman

At Blair and Serena's apartment.

* * *

**Spotted: Dan Humphrey and Chuck Bass having a not-so-private **_**tête-à-tête**_** in the dining room of the Palace Hotel. This isn't the first time that Lonely Boy and the Bass have gone head to head, and something tells us it's not the last. Why so serious, boys? Last night's revelations prove that you have more in common than you ever imagined. **

Serena finished reading the blast, tossed her phone onto the comforter, and cinched her blue silk dressing gown tighter at the waist. She had to admire Chuck's quick work. It wasn't even 10AM yet, and he had already set her up to knock Humphrey down. If she knew Dan—and she knew Dan—he was already on his way to the apartment to demand an explanation, and she was going to give it to him.

But first she had to talk to Blair, and she wasn't exactly sure how she was going to manage that. She remembered the Thanksgiving after Blair's 17th birthday, the first time that she had confronted her about sleeping with Chuck…

"_Are you jealous?" Blair had said, her dark eyes flashing hellfire. "That you didn't get to sleep with him first?" She let out a scornful laugh. "There had to be _somebody_ left on the Upper East Side."_

_Serena had stood there for a moment, struggling with herself, debating whether to say it or not. "Been there, done that, B" was on the very tip of her tongue, but then Eleanor Waldorf had rushed in, rambling about Thanksgiving plans—"Blair, dahrling, are you going to help me at all?—and Serena had beat a hasty retreat._

Well, the truth had to come out sometime, and this, apparently, was it. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, ran a hand through her tangled hair, and took a deep breath. Then she laid her hand on the doorknob to the adjoining bedroom. Blair's.

When she opened the door, to her complete surprise, Blair wasn't sitting there, lying in wait like a poisonous spider. Instead, she was rushing around the room in a frenzy, shuffling through folders and grabbing at papers. Even for Blair Waldorf, she looked extraordinarily fashionable—or "of-the-moment," as Eleanor would say. She was dressed in an exquisite high-waisted cable knit turquoise skirt, cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt, and a delicate white scoop-neck blouse that fit her small shoulders perfectly. On her legs she wore gray herringbone stockings; her tiny feet disappeared into a pair of floppy leather ankle boots. In lieu of her usual headband, a pair of red sunglasses held back her hair. Her makeup was immaculate—black liquid eyeliner, applied in a dart across her eyelids, and a light coral lip-gloss. When she saw Serena, she froze and stared like a deer in headlights.

"Hi, Blair," Serena tentatively said.

"Oh my God. _Serena_. You would not believe what I saw when I woke up this morning and looked at my cell."

"Oh?" Serena said. _Here it comes_, she thought.

"Walk with me to the living room. _Stat_." Blair grabbed one more folder and strode out of the room, and Serena followed suit, her stomach tying itself into knots. "Mom and Cyrus sent me a text," Blair said over her shoulder as they hurried down the hallway. "They're in Milan, and last night they had dinner with _Scott Schuman_!"

Serena looked at Blair blankly. "Who?"

Blair stopped in her tracks, stared at her for a beat, and then thwacked her with a thick portfolio.

"Ow!"

"You should be ashamed of yourself, young lady!" she squawked.

"Um…why?"

"He posted a photo of you _last year_? In the Dolce and Gabbana with the Dior heels?" Blair rolled her eyes. "The _Sartorialist_!" she exclaimed. "The most successful fashion blog in history!"

"Oh—yeah," Serena said.

"Anyways, they just _happened_ to mention that he's flying into New York on a red-eye flight and he'll be at the airport by ten-thirty, which is precisely when I'm going to arrive with a cup of his favorite coffee, sign in hand, and welcome Mr. Schuman back to New York City. Then we'll share a twenty-minute ride back to Manhattan in a hired car, during which I will shamelessly whore myself out as a fashion- and Internet-savvy intern."

"Wow," Serena said. "It really sounds like a great plan, B."

"Thanks, S." Blair shot a smile in Serena's general direction, without making eye contact, and began to circumnavigate the living room, frantically looking under books and magazines. "I just need to find my updated resumé, pour a to-go cup of this Peruvian shade-grown fair-trade coffee—Mom says it's Schuman's favorite—and I'm all set. Oh!" she sang out triumphantly, picking up a piece of stiff paper and tucking it into a folder. "Here's my resumé. Okay. And now here's the cup—"

She scampered into the kitchen, reached up, and took down a to-go ceramic coffee cup and its tight-fitting rubber lid from the shelf.

Blair _was_ acting a bit strange, but this was definitely not the reaction that Serena was expecting. She decided to take a more direct approach. "B," she ventured, "are you sure there's not something that you want to talk to me about?" _Okay,_ she thought, _actually_, _Serena_, _that was still kind of _in_direct. _

"What? _No_," Blair said in a clipped voice, taking the coffee pot off the burner. "What on earth would I want to talk to you about?" She turned and looked at Serena, batting her eyelashes, and, without looking at what she was doing, began to pour the coffee.

Serena watched as the steady stream of hot coffee fell hissing onto Blair's cell phone, which was lying on the kitchen counter not six inches away from the coffee mug. She blinked in astonishment. This was not angry Blair. This was—distracted-by-guilt Blair. _Of course_, she realized, wondering why she hadn't figured it out sooner. _She was distracted by the text about Schuman. She hasn't even seen the blast yet! _

Blair took a sideways glance at the stream of coffee, smiling placidly, and returned her wide-eyed gaze to Serena. She then immediately did a double take in the opposite direction.

"_Noooo_," she cried out in anguish, righting her wrist and setting the coffee pot on the counter. "Oh no!" She picked up her cell phone, turned it upside down, and shook it, trying to get the coffee out of the keypad.

"Oh no," Serena repeated mechanically. "Is it broken?"

"I don't know," Blair wailed, poking at the phone with her thumb. "Does a blank screen mean it's broken? A—completely, utterly unresponsive screen?"

"Oh, B," Serena said, walking over to her and laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm really sorry you killed your phone."

"Well, I don't have time to deal with it now," Blair said in a mournful tone. "I have to—"

"Meester Dan to see you, Mees Blair," they heard Dorota say, and both Blair and Serena looked up, gaping. There, standing next to Dorota, was Dan, his hair unkempt, his hands awkwardly shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

"Hi. Um, actually," Dan said, "I'm here to see Serena."

"Oh." Blair peeped. "That's—fine." She gathered up her papers and stuffed them into her bag. "I was just on my way out. Toodles!" She fled to the elevator, dropping several copies of her resume along the way.

Dorota looked at them like they were all crazy, shook her head, and glided out of the room.

Dan and Serena regarded one another.

"So," he said.

"So."

"Look," he said, "I really don't want to take up a lot of your time. It'll seriously take five seconds. I just want you to tell me that the rumor isn't tr—"

"It's true," she interrupted him.

He closed his eyes and exhaled in a burst.

"You wanted to know," Serena said, "and now you know."

"Well, you know, I don't believe you." Dan blinked several times, turned to one side and began to pace in a circle. "I think, um, I think this is a plot to get back at me and Blair for, you know, hanging out."

"Jesus, Dan," Serena said. "Do you think I would lie about something like this?"

"Well, yes, now that you mention it, I do."

"I slept with Chuck," Serena said. "Five years ago. Do you want the full story? Because I can go into as much detail as you want."

Dan held out his hand. "I would rather not—"

"Our parents were _dating_," Serena cut in. She looked up at him with weary eyes, and sighed. "I mean—" She ran a hair through her hair and continued to speak. "You probably didn't know this, but Bart and Lily had an on-again, off-again thing for a couple of years before he finally proposed. But when they first started going out, we were all really, really unhappy about it. I mean, Erik and I were, like, _ecstatic_ because she had just left German Klaus, and we were so not ready for her to start seeing someone else."

"Yeah?" Dan said. "What about Chuck? I thought he liked Lily."

"He _did_. But Bart had promised to take him to Barbados over fall break, and Chuck was really looking forward to it—I mean, you can probably imagine how much time he got to spend with his father—but then when Bart started dating my mom he told Chuck that he was going to have to call it off—for business reasons, he claimed, but we knew the real truth. He didn't want to leave Lily alone for a week." Serena let out a slow exhalation. "So we hatched a scheme," she said.

"Uh-huh. And, um, this scheme involved you sleeping together?"

"No, it did not," Serena said testily. "We both knew that they had plans to go to the opera, and Chuck told me that he had overheard his father convincing my mom to stay over at the Palace that night. So we calculated the twenty-minute window when they were most likely to come home. And we decided to make out on the couch—right in the middle of the living area—so they would see us as soon as they walked into the apartment."

"Um, let me guess—_Chuck_—Chuck came up with this plan?"

Serena sighed. "Actually, it was _my_ idea. I figured that seeing me with Chuck would freak my mom out so much that she wouldn't be able to stomach dating Bart Bass anymore."

"So how exactly did you go from making out to—?"

"I don't know, Dan." Serena said. "I guess—we just got caught up in the moment."

* * *

What happened that night? Check the next chapter for part one.

**If you know you're allergic to C/S smut, just skip ahead to Chapter 7. **Seriously! You won't miss any important plot details, and I won't get unhappy reviews that say "I really like the rest of the story but eww gross Chuck-Serena sex!" Everybody wins! ;)


	4. The Harder to Get

Serena's flashback to that fateful night five years ago. Oh yeah, this is **dirty**. And you pro'lly won't like it if you don't think Chuck Bass is the least bit sexy. You are forewarned.

**Again, if you're allergic to C/S smut, just skip ahead to Chapter 7.**

* * *

Their few first kisses weren't exactly kisses—they were really just pressing their mouths together, letting their lips graze one another's. When Chuck added a tiny bit of suction, turning a chaste kiss into a real (albeit close-mouthed) one, Serena suddenly broke away from him and cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry," she said in response to Chuck's unimpressed stare. "I think I just need to warm up a little bit."

"A piece of advice? Unless you want to be my sister one day, try opening your mouth," Chuck said laconically.

Serena exhaled through her nose, nodded, and tilted her face up towards his. He leaned forward, laid his mouth over hers and parted his lips, and his tongue slid into her mouth and glided over hers.

She quickly discovered that kissing Chuck Bass was a lot more fun than she expected.

For one thing, he was really, really hot—literally. His body temperature must have been a degree or two higher than average. She felt as though she were kissing someone with a small sun in the center of his chest that radiated heat throughout his entire body. When he opened his mouth against hers, the sudden sensation of his hot, insistent tongue in her mouth was so sexy that—in spite of herself—she was almost immediately turned on.

He tasted faintly of whiskey, and something else, something summery and sweet. Honeysuckle.

"What the hell is wrong with me," she thought. "Chuck Bass tastes like _honeysuckle_? Jesus."

She couldn't deny, though, that he had a wonderful sense of rhythm—their tongues drew back, coalesced, drew back and coalesced again in an intoxicating dance. Without thinking she opened her mouth wider, and in response he slid his hot tongue farther into her mouth. She thrust her tongue harder against his and was surprised at how good it felt to deepen the kiss.

She broke away from him for a moment. "Um. You're actually a really good kisser," she murmured, her lips hovering millimeters from his.

"I was just thinking the same thing about you," he said, and kissed her again.

She laid her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him towards her, tangling her fingers in his hair, and in response he laid his hand on the indention at the side of her waist and pulled her closer to him.

After a couple of minutes their pulses were racing, they were audibly breathing, and they were clutching at each other's bodies as if they were on the verge of drowning.

By this point was obvious to both of them that this was no longer just an act.

A lightening bolt of pleasure was flashing down Serena's body, from her mouth—where Chuck's tongue was massaging hers in that maddeningly sensual rhythm—down to her aroused nipples—which fairly ached to be touched—and down, down to her vulva, which felt like a flower beginning to bloom. She leaned back against the couch and pulled him on top of her. When he thrust one of his legs between hers she couldn't resist the urge to grind her pubis against his upper thigh. She made an involuntary noise, and he responded by pushing his leg harder into her crotch, increasing the pleasurable friction against her clit.

This was the perfect moment for Lily and Bart to walk in, she realized. But to her amazement, she was no longer sure that she wanted them to.

Chuck expertly slid his hand up her shirt and cupped one of her naked breasts in his palm.

"Chuck!" she cried, fishing his hand out of her shirt. "Stop it. We said we were only going to make out."

"I thought we were trying to give a realistic performance," Chuck protested. "If this were a genuine hook-up there's no way I wouldn't have gotten to second base by now. Come on." He reinserted his hand and began to rub his thumb against her nipple. It felt so good that Serena barely managed to suppress a moan.

"Just remember this is business, not pleasure," she said in a voice that she hoped sounded a lot more convicted than she felt.

"Who says it can't be a little bit of both?" Chuck asked in a low voice. He began to kiss and suckle at her neck, moving upwards in a series of tiny bites. When Serena felt his tongue slide behind her ear, her eyelids fluttered shut, and to her amazement, she saw white stars burst in front of her eyes. _OMG_, she thought. _I'm so turned on I'm hallucinating_.

He shifted his weight and inserted his other leg between hers, pushing her knees farther apart. Now he was on top of her, grinding his crotch into hers, and she could feel—even through the combined bulk of their clothes—that he was already hard as a rock. She trailed her hands down his back, pulling him tighter against her, and bucked her pelvis raunchily against his.

What they were doing now could only loosely be called "kissing." The ferocity with which they attacked each other's mouths would be more accurately described as "tongue-fucking."

"Mmm," he moaned into her mouth, and began to tug at her shirt.

"Wait—what are you doing?" Serena said, arresting his hands.

"Taking off your shirt so I can play with your tits," he said.

"No. No-no."

"Come on, Serena, what's the problem? I can tell you're totally into it," he said.

Serena held his face and looked up at him with plaintive eyes. "Chuck. I really, really don't want your dad to walk in and see my boobs."

Chuck blinked. "Um, yeah," he said. "There is something kind of gross about that idea." He looked at her and jerked his head to one side. "Let's just go to my room."

"But that ruins our plan," she said. "It depends on our _getting caught._"

"We'll still '_get caught_.'" Chuck said, tugging the straps of her shirt over each of her shoulders with a deft motion of his fingers. "Let's just leave a trail of clothes. It'll be obvious what's happened."

"Hmm." Serena was not entirely convinced.

"Look. For our parents, knowing that unmentionable things are happening behind closed doors may be even more disturbing than catching us _in fragrante delicto_." He leaned down and kissed the swell of her breast, then looked up at her. His pupils were dilated, his cheeks flushed. "Come on, Serena," he pleaded. "What do you say?"

Instead of answering him, she kicked off her shoes. They hit the floor in a thump.

* * *

Don't worry, kids, it gets even juicier in the next chapter.


	5. Things that You Never Knew Before

Serena's flashback, continued. Again, this is **filthy**.

Some of us are happy to read Chuck-smut in any form; some of us are sticklers for seeing him with a particular lady (or, um, dude). **If Chuck-Serena sex makes you cringe, just skip ahead to Chapter 7.**

* * *

Item: one (1) pair gold peep-toes.

Item: one (1) striped purple silk cravat.

Item: one (1) pair calf leather loafers.

Item: one (1) goldenrod draped jersey blouse.

Item: one (1) pair engraved gold cufflinks ("C.B.").

Item: one (1) lavender-striped men's dress shirt.

Item: one (1) white men's undershirt.

Item: one (1) pair men's sock garters.

Item: one (1) pair silk ribbed pearl-tone socks.

Item: one (1) tiered satin miniskirt in cream.

Item: one (1) black calfskin belt.

Item: one (1) pair slim-cut grey wool-blend trousers.

Item: a pocketful of loose change—three (3) quarters, two (2) dimes, one (1) nickel, four (4) pennies.

That was the inventory laid out over the 60-odd feet from the white leather sofa in the living area to the paneled oak double doors leading to Chuck's room. He and Serena had pulled each other's clothes off, item by item, as they made their zigzagged way to the bedroom, making out furiously. By the time they reached the door Serena was wearing only a semi-translucent pair of peach panties; Chuck, a pair of snug briefs in a deep shape of purple that Blair would have called "aubergine."

"My, my. Nice underwear, Bass," Serena said, eyeing his crotch. The briefs were straining to contain what was by now a massive erection.

"Don't mock me, van der Woodsen," Chuck said, smiling, as he shut the door and turned the bolt. "Especially since you're the one who's put me in this condition." He laid his hand on her neck and pulled her into a kiss.

Serena pulled away from him. "Well, maybe I can help you get _out_ of this condition," she said, reaching down and rubbing her palm against the bulge in his crotch. Chuck let out a soft sigh of pleasure, and she looked up and gave him a slow dirty smile.

"I had no idea you'd be so much fun," he said in an appreciative tone. Then he reached down, grabbed her at the knees, and toppled her into his bed. Serena let out a cry of surprise and giggled as he clambered on top of her.

She realized he was nothing like the other boys she'd been with. When they touched her it was like they were trying to dance a cotillion step they had just learned. She and Chuck didn't need choreography; they were in effortless sync.

He kissed her, and, lowering his head, began to suck and lick at her breasts. She ran her hand through his thick hair, moaning, as he gently held one of her nipples between his teeth and lapped at it with his tongue. Running his hands down her sides, he trailed his lips down her ribcage; he continued to move down her torso, kissing the top of her stomach, then just above her bellybutton, then just underneath it. He shifted his weight and moved over to one side to run his tongue over the jut of her hipbone.

He hooked his fingers into the elastic band of her panties and looked up at her questioningly. She bit her lip and smiled and nodded, and he slowly slid them down, over her hips and legs and feet. He lowered his head and was about to plant a kiss on her upper thigh when she suddenly grabbed him by the hair.

"_Ow_."

"Chuck—what are you doing?"

"Exactly what it looks like I'm doing," he said.

"No, I—don't want that."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I don't like—that."

"That's only because _I _haven't done it to you yet," he said, and grinned, but when he saw her troubled look, he stopped smiling and hesitated a second. "Wait a minute—has _anyone_ done it to you before?"

Serena pursed her lips and shook her head. "The idea kind of weirds me out."

"Look," he said, "if you don't like it, just ask me to stop. But give it a chance. Give _me_ a chance." He began to rub her inner thighs with his hands. The feel of his soft palms as they stroked her legs, up and down, up and down—coming excruciatingly close to her vulva on the upward sweep—was beginning to make her reconsider. "_Please_," he said, his voice urgent with desire.

She sighed. "Okay. But you have to stop when I tell you to."

He smiled. "You mean _if_ you tell me to."

He pulled up one of her legs, bending it at the knee, and slowly laid his lips on the inside of her thigh, just above the knee, and gave it a series of prolonged, languorous kisses. When he darted out his tongue and licked the cleft at the back of her knee, she heard herself moan in response to the unexpectedly pleasurable sensation.

He slid down lower on the bed; his head was now hovering between her legs. He continued to rub her inner thighs, pausing intermittently lower his head and brush his lips along the sensitive skin. From time to time he gave her a little bite and gently suckled at her flesh. He moved from side to side, from leg to leg, kissing, licking, biting and sucking at her skin, until she had a series of light pink marks trailing up the inside of her legs.

By this point Serena was beginning to squirm with expectancy. She had always been too self-conscious to let anyone get so close to her—lady parts, but now she was aching to feel that hot mouth all pressed up against them. Who knew Chuck Bass would turn out to be such a tease?

Finally, he kissed the very top of her right leg, _right_ along her bikini line, a scant two inches from her clit—and then suddenly retreated to plant another kiss on the middle of her left thigh.

"Jesus, Chuck," she heard herself yell. "If you're going to do it, just go ahead and _do_ it."

"Do what?" Chuck purred, looking up at her impishly.

"You know exactly what."

He sat up on his knees, still rubbing her thighs. "No, I don't. Tell me what you want me to do."

"Is this some kind of weird sexual torture?"

Chuck laughed. "Just tell me what you want me to do," he said, flicking his eyes down at her crotch.

"Um—go down on me?" Serena said, and felt the blood rise in her cheeks. "Isn't that obvious?"

"Oh, come on, Serena," Chuck said. He dipped his head and barely, just _barely_, flicked the head of her clit with his tongue. "I think you could find a dirtier way to say it."

Serena let out a short, frustrated moan, and hit the mattress with a downward swing of her fist. "Eat me out. Lick my pussy. I'll say whatever you want me to—aooohhhhhh," she let out a guttural noise as he ran his tongue up her vulva to her clit, and began to stroke it in slow, upward motions.

Serena had never before heard the sound that was coming out of her mouth; it was really more a series of modulating vowels than anything remotely approaching articulate syllables. Chuck's tongue was hitting her in just the right rhythm and in just the right places. He moved it in different ways, circling its tip round and round the head of her clit, and then lapping up and down with the flat part of his tongue; sometimes he used more pressure, sometimes less. He was eating her out with evident relish, occasionally grunting in appreciation as he rubbed and squeezed her thighs. He snaked his hands underneath her haunches and cradled her ass, raising her hips slightly for better access to her clit.

She reached down, grabbed the back of his head, and pulled him more tightly against her. By this time her entire body was flushed with heat and her legs were beginning to involuntarily tremble. Without thinking she greedily bucked and writhed against his mouth, and in response he grabbed her shaking legs and tongued her harder and faster. She began to moan, gradually building in volume, and she knew that whatever-it-was that was happening down there was at a breaking point—and then it broke, and she let out a scream of pleasure. It hit her like a ocean wave that knocks you down and holds you in place and hits you again and again and again, and her entire body shook and spasmed, and she heard herself wail in ecstatic disbelief that anything could feel _this fucking good._

Finally the waves began to slow and wane until they were just little ripples, and she felt herself beginning to drift back down to earth like a feather. He was still massaging her with his tongue, very gently, and when she started to feel a little too sensitive she pushed back his hair from his forehead to signal him to stop. He looked up and gave her a devilish smile. "I take it you…liked it?" he asked.

"Come here," she said, glassy-eyed and smiling, and pulled him on top of her. She parted his lips with her tongue and ran it around his mouth, tasting herself—a musky, spicy taste. She broke away from him and looked into his eyes. "That was…pretty much incredible."

"I live to serve," Chuck said, kissing her again.

"Where did you learn that?"

He hesitated, smiling. "_Giovanna,_" he said in an exaggerated Italian accent.

"The Italian au pair?"

"She was really more of a governess, if you know what I mean."

"Well, the next time you see her, thank her for me," Serena said, "and for all womankind."

"No can do. My father had her deported after he caught us playing hide-the-salami behind the desk of his study. It was a terrible shame."

"Well," Serena said, eying his crotch meaningfully. "Maybe I can—you know, return the favor?"

Chuck smiled at her. "Actually," he said in his raspy voice, and winced slightly, "I kind of wanna fuck. Is that okay with you?"

In response Serena brought her knees up to her chest and hooked her toes into the waistband of his briefs. She extended her legs downwards, sliding Chuck's underwear down his legs to his feet. He laughed and kicked them off. "Wow," he said, "you're good at that."

* * *

_Aw yiss_. You all know what happens next.


	6. Nice is Different than Good

This episode contains a flashback-within-a-flashback in which Blair plays a significant part. Also, it's just as **filthy** as the last installment. (I try to let you know up front.)

**Once again, if Chuck-Serena sex makes you cringe, just skip ahead to Chapter 7.**

* * *

She wasn't sure exactly what it was—maybe it was the angle of his head, or the tilt of his jaw, or the way he breathed against her neck as he kissed her just below the ear. But out of nowhere, absurdly—considering that he was at that very moment on top of her, fucking her, thrusting his hips in a smooth rhythmic motion—Serena was suddenly flooded by a memory.

_It was the spring dance at the end of freshman year. She spotted Chuck in a dim-lit corner making out with the Brazilian exchange student, Anamaria. He was cupping the back of her neck with his palm, kissing her just below the ear, his hand creeping up her thigh underneath her silk dress. She pushed his hand away, murmuring protestations, but he immediately reinserted it under her skirt, farther up this time, and Anamaria's eyes fluttered shut; her mouth formed a wide "O."_

"_I know what you're thinking," said a voice by her side. She turned and saw that it was Blair, dressed in a princess-cut pink tulle party dress. She was looking at the spectacle in the corner with an expression of utter distaste. _

"_You do?"_

"_Chuck Bass is disgusting," Blair declared. "And this girl—what on God's green earth is she thinking? She'll ruin her reputation."_

"_Blair, she's going back to Brazil in two weeks. I'm sure she's just having one last New York hurrah."_

"_But what if she ever wants to come back?" Blair sputtered. "Does she really think that the members of the highest echelons of Upper East Side society aren't going to remember that she let Chuck Bass get to third base in the corner of the Constance ballroom?"_

"_Maybe she doesn't care," Serena said, still watching them. Judging from her facial expressions, Anamaria certainly didn't _seem_ to care. Nor did she appear to be conscious of _anything_ at that moment—anything other than Chuck, that is._

"_She should know better than to get involved with Chuck."_

"_Why? Because he's 'mad, bad and dangerous to know?'"_

"_That's not what I said!" Blair retorted. _

_She paused for a beat, and added, in a soft voice with a hint of curiosity, "Who said that?"_

_Serena laughed, entwined her arm with Blair's, and began to walk with her to the other end of the ballroom. "We're reading Lord Byron in my lit tutorial. Ms. Novotney told us he was a notorious ladies' man. There was this Lady named Caroline Lamb, and she met him at a party and called him 'mad, bad and dangerous to know.' But then he pursued her, and they started having an affair, but then he broke things off with her because he was in love with his half-sister—"_

"Ew."

"_I know, seriously. Anyways, she was so crazy about him that she walked up to him at a high society party and slit her wrists right in front of him, just so he would give her his handkerchief to stop the bleeding."_

"_Wow. Did she die?"_

"_No. I think she stalked him for a while, and then they sent her to a mental hospital or something." _

"_Well, that was a happy story, S," Blair said in sprightly voice, and they both laughed. _

_Blair smiled, but then she seemed to grow wistful. "Still, it really must be something…to love someone that much. That you'd be willing to do anything—pull any crazy stunt—just to get them back…"_

_She shot a look over her shoulder, and Serena followed her gaze to the corner of the ballroom. It was empty. Chuck and Anamaria were gone. _

_Serena looked at Blair and knitted her eyebrows. Could Blair really have a thing—an unconscious, deeply buried thing—for Chuck Bass?_

_Serena liked Chuck and all, but he was coarse, callow and completely self-interested. He was constantly ditching class to smoke pot in the courtyard, and whenever they went out in a group he always made himself the center of attention by throwing his money around. Not to mention the fact that he tended to pursue a new girl every week, if not every _night_. _

_He would never treat Blair like she wanted to be treated—like a prim and proper princess. That was why Blair and Nate were such a perfect couple. Nate was a true gentleman. The last of a dying breed. _

_Serena decided to remind Blair that she had a devoted boyfriend before she had the chance to dwell overlong on Chuck Bass and his Byronic mystique._

"_Like you and Nate."_

"_Hmm?" Blair hummed in an absent-minded way. _

"_You know. You and Nate. You love each other. _That much_—enough to do anything. Right?"_

"_Yes. Yes, of course," Blair said, blinking. "We do." She gave Serena her most picture-perfect smile, the one that made her face look like the frozen features of a porcelain doll. "In fact, I think I'll go catch up with Nate right now. Want to come?"_

"_In a minute. I'm going to get some punch." _

_Serena turned around and headed to the refreshment stand. She stole one last glance at the empty corner along the way._

_That's the thing about bad boys, she thought to herself. They know a secret that the good boys don't know. That girls aren't dolls—they're _animals_, with blood and sweat and teeth, just like the boys. And bad boys know when you mean it when you tell them to "stop" (and they _do_ stop)—but they also know when you _don't_ mean it, when you just said it because you couldn't admit how much you wanted, _needed_, what they could give you. To be touched. To be fucked. And so when the time finally comes and you say "stop" and they pretend not to hear you—well, you feel yourself spilling over with gratitude. Because you've heard all your life that it just isn't ladylike to want those things, and so you pretended that you didn't. And you went to bed alone, half-crazy with want, night after night, until you finally found a bad boy who called your bluff and took you to his bed. And what happened there was a fucking revelation. _

_You realized then that you were a bad girl. And you stopped pretending otherwise._

Chuck was fucking her and she was moaning, sweating, panting, her legs wrapped around his legs, her feet against his calves, her body intertwined with his. She clenched her teeth and bucked her pelvis into him. She was already beginning to feel like it was going to happen again—like she was going to come, if he only kept doing what he was doing, kept fucking her in that same rhythm—but then suddenly he stopped and clenched his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry," he said, taking a few shallow breaths. His forehead was sweaty, and his damp hair clump to his temples. "I'm almost there—I'm trying to hold back."

"I'm right there with you," she said. "Just keep going." She grabbed his ass and pulled him toward her, trying to get him moving again.

"One second," he said, and swallowed hard. Then he opened his eyes and looked at her. "You want to put your legs up?"

She pulled up her legs and he bent back her knees and hooked them over his shoulders, and began to fuck her again, and his cock was rock hard and hitting her just right, even more deeply than before, and she began to feel that those waves were coming again, they were on their way, they were almost there, and she told him to keep fucking her and as soon as the words were out of her mouth the waves started to crash into her, again and again, and she cried and thrashed underneath him. Somewhere above her she saw Chuck's face contort with pleasure, and from far away she heard him say "Serena, say my name," and she said "Chuck Bass?" as a question but it didn't come out as a question (it came out sounding kind of sexy) and he moaned and said "again" and so she repeated it, "Chuck Bass, Chuck Bass" and she saw the waves crash into him, too. He clenched his eyes shut and thrust hard and deep into her and let out three long guttural moans. Then he began to slow down, trembling and gasping, and finally he collapsed on top of her, his chest against her chest, his heart knocking against hers.

Serena wrapped her arms around Chuck's wiry body. He was covered in sweat, but to her surprise she discovered that she didn't mind; in fact, she _liked_ it, having him so close to her, breathing in the scent of his neck. With the flats of her fingertips she rubbed his back just below his shoulder blades, and he made an appreciative noise. After a few moments he rose up on his elbows and gave her a sweet, grateful kiss.

"That was _amazing_," he purred.

Okay, maybe now things were getting a bit too lovey-dovey.

"Did you seriously just have an orgasm because you heard the sound of your own name?" she said in a wry voice. "You are an even bigger narcissist than I thought."

He laughed. "It's not my name that does it," he said with a smile, "It's my name being said by a beautiful woman in the throes of ecstasy." He kissed her again.

"Don't you think you're exaggerating slightly?"

"About you being beautiful? Or about you being in the throes of ecstasy? Because from where I was standing…"

She reached up and gently touched his face. "That was my first time," she murmured, looking into his eyes. "Not—my _first time_ first time. But my first time…you know."

Chuck raised his eyebrows. "Coming?"

"Yeah." She wasn't quite sure what to say. "Um. Thank you."

"You—" He kissed her on the right cheek. "Are—" He kissed her on the left. "Very—" He lowered his head and kissed the top of her breasts. "Welcome." He lifted his head and kissed her on the lips.

She returned the kiss, then reached up and pushed his hair back from his forehead. "I like your hair," she said. "It always makes me think that you look like a Lost Boy."

"A what?"

"A lost boy. You know. From _Peter Pan_. They're the boys who get lost—or their parents lose them. And they go to Neverland and live with Peter Pan. That's how you look—like a lost boy. Like you should be running around in a forest with a garland of leaves in your hair."

Chuck blinked for a second, then cleared his throat and lifted himself away from her. He reached down and carefully pulled out of her, and then he snapped the condom off and threw it away in a small waste bin hidden in the bedside cabinet. "I don't think our parents are back yet," he said, with his back to her. "Do you—" he turned to look over his shoulder. "Want to sleep over? I realize it's a little late to come up with a Plan B, but maybe they'll be out there having breakfast in the morning when we stumble out with sexed-out hair."

She would have said no, but she was tired and relaxed, and the bed was comfortable, and she could feel that there were chemicals dancing in her brain that made her want to stay, want to curl up naked with Chuck Bass (good God what was _wrong_ with her) and slowly fall asleep.

And so that's what she did.

* * *

Okay, I KNOW that _seems_ romantic. But what happens the morning after? Why does Serena dislike Chuck so much in the pilot episode of GG? You (and Dan) will find out in the next installment.

Also, if you've read through the story, please take the time to leave a review. It seriously only takes two minutes. I love hearing from you, and your reviews really do help me to shape the story, chapter by chapter.


	7. Charming, not Sincere

Chuck and Serena, the morning after their...entanglement. This is the last flashback chapter!

* * *

"_Shit!_"

Chuck groggily opened his eyes and rolled over in bed. Serena was sitting bolt upright—still naked, he noted with some satisfication—and was staring at her cell phone. "Serena. Whassa matter?" he mumbled, and fumbled under the covers towards her thigh.

"My mom didn't stay with Bart last night, Chuck," Serena said in a panicked voice. "She went home. And she sent me about 20 texts last night asking me where the hell I was. I've already been in so much trouble lately—oh God, she's going to _kill_ me."

She dove underneath the covers (he raised his eyebrows at this) and reemerged with her crumpled panties. She swung her legs over to the side of the bed and pulled them over her feet. Hopping out of bed, she yanked her underwear up over her taut hips, and ran into the living room to collect the rest of her clothes.

Chuck yawned, stretched, and got out of bed to follow her, plucking a silk dressing robe off of a hook and slipping it on along the way. Serena had already thrown on the rest of her clothes and was stepping into her shoes, scanning the contents of her purse to make sure she had everything.

"I have to go," she said. "I'll talk to you later."

"Hey, wait a second," Chuck protested, walking towards her and turning his palms upwards. "Don't I rate a goodbye kiss?"

"Chuck, I really don't have time for this right now," Serena said, running her hand through her messy hair and slinging her purse over her shoulder. "I have to get home and apologize before Lily starts calling _convents_ and asking if they take in _wayward girls!"_ She turned to leave, but Chuck grabbed her arm.

"Just let me ask you something first," he said in a soft, insistent way.

Serena swallowed, froze in her tracks and turned around to face him. "What," she said with a reluctant edge to her voice.

"Look, last night was really…something," Chuck said, "and—I just want to know if—" He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I just want to know if your—feelings toward me have changed."

Serena's jaw dropped.

"Into—you know," Chuck said, eyeing the floor and shrugging his shoulders, "_romantic_ feelings."

Serena was incredulous. Did Chuck Bass actually—_like_ her? What was she supposed to say to this?

"You can tell me the truth," he said in a gentle voice. "Don't be afraid."

"Chuck—I had a lot of fun last night," she stammered, "and I mean—a LOT of fun. But—I don't know how else to say this, so—_NO_."

Chuck closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

"I'm really sorry," Serena went on. "I feel terrible, but—I have to be honest, I just don't feel that way about you."

"Serena—" he said in a strained voice. Then, to her surprise, a Cheshire cat-sized grin spread across his face. "That is _exactly_ what I was hoping you would say."

"What—?" she sputtered.

"Oh, God, that is such a relief," Chuck groaned, holding a hand over his heart. "You really had me worried last night with all that weird shit you were saying about my hair…"

"Chuck, what are you trying to do?" Serena said angrily. "Fuck with my head?"

"I'm trying to tell you that I feel the same way as you do!" Chuck exclaimed. "I have no interest in dating you. But—" he sidled up to her and put his hands on her waist. "I would _love_ to fuck you on a semi-regular basis," he growled. "What do you say?"

"I say—I'm out of here, Chuck. I really do have to go." She backed out of his hands, turned, and headed for the door.

"Serena," he called after her, "think about it, okay? This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship with benefits."

"Look, Chuck, we'll talk about it later," Serena said, but she couldn't help but smile a little bit. "Bye for now, okay?"

"_Byeee_," Chuck drawled. Serena rolled her eyes at him in a way that wasn't entirely unaffectionate, and turned the door handle, and left. He shut the door behind her.

"And she didn't even kiss me goodbye," he said to the empty apartment. He let out a sigh of satisfication, and a slow happy smile spread across his face.

* * *

"Where the _hell_ have you been, young lady?"

Lily van der Woodsen was sitting cross-legged on the sofa in front of the door, an oversized fashion magazine in her lap. Her lips were pressed into a thin red dart. As always, she looked impeccably beautiful, but when she was angry—and she was _really_ angry—she was even more intimidating than usual.

"_Mom_," Serena moaned. "I'm so sorry."

"Sit down," Lily ordered. "And explain. Now. Where were you last night, and why didn't you call me?"

Serena collapsed onto the sofa, sighed, and stuck her fingers in her mane of hair.

"I was with Chuck," she said, scratching the side of her head.

"_Charles_?" Lily said in a disbelieving voice. "You were with Bart's son?"

"Mom," Serena said, "you know that Erik and I have been having mixed feelings about you starting to date again."

"Umm—" Lily blinked several times. "Serena, this is the first that I've heard about it."

"I know, mom, that's why—look. I talked to Chuck and he felt the same way. His father is always so busy that he barely has any time to spend with him, and now that he's started seeing you—"

"…I see," Lily said in a slow voice.

"Chuck and I decided to wait for you and Bart to come back from the opera," Serena went on. "We were going to try to…_express_ how we felt about your dating each other. We—we thought you'd be more likely to take us seriously if we put up a united front."

She let out a slow breath. "But we waited, and you didn't come, and finally we just ended up passing out. I didn't see your messages until I woke up. That's the truth, Mom. I swear."

_Well, technically, it is the truth,_ she thought to herself. _The truth edited for adult content._

Lily brought her hand to her mouth, stood up, and took a few steps away from the couch. "Serena—" she said, obviously moved. "That is, without a doubt—"

Serena couldn't believe it. She was actually going to get away with it.

Lily whirled around. "The most _bullshit_ story I've ever heard in my life," she declared.

"_Mom!_" Serena said, shocked.

"Bart and I broke up, Serena," Lily said. "Last night." She sat back down on the sofa and crossed her legs.

"You—you did?"

"I decided to surprise him," Lily continued. "I was going to drop by his apartment in a simply _raaavishing_ dress and whisk him away to an exclusive five-star restaurant for dinner. And do you know what I caught him doing?"

_I'm not sure I want to know,_ Serena thought.

"Packing his bags for Tokyo! A business opportunity he just couldn't pass up. He told me he was sorry to miss our two-week anniversary, but he was flying out that night. Well, I was just livid. And I'm afraid I made a quite a scene. But the long and the short of it is, Bart Bass and I are no longer together."

Serena gaped. "Mom, I'm—I'm sorry. But I didn't—know."

Lily set two fingers against her temple. "You didn't know. _Riii_ght. Didn't you just say you were with Charles last night?"

"Well—yeah."

"Serena—Charles was _right there_ when Bart and I had our fight. He saw the entire thing. It was really quite embarrassing," she muttered. "That's how I know you were lying through your teeth. Now, are you planning on telling me what you were _really_ doing last night?"

Serena felt her stomach sink down about six inches. "Chuck—_knew_ that you and Bart broke up?"

"Serena, I just told you. He was standing _right there_. Actually, I really should apologize to the poor boy. I almost hit him with a vase that I threw against the wall."

Serena let out an ugly little laugh. "I—I can't believe it," she said, looking at the ground, and then added, in a smaller voice, "Wait, no, actually, I think I _can_ believe it…"

"Well?" Lily said, and made an impatient gesture with her hands. "I'm waiting, young lady. Are you going to tell me where you _really_ were last night, or not?"

Serena stared blankly ahead. "Dancing," she said in a flat voice. "I went out dancing."

"And who did you stay with?" Lily asked. "And don't you dare say Blair, because I already called Eleanor Waldorf this morning."

"Just some people—I met."

Lily let out an exasperated sigh. "You are grounded, young lady. For a month. I cannot _believe_ you went to a club and stayed out all night without having the decency to call and tell me where you were."

She stood up. "If this kind of behavior doesn't stop, we're going to start looking into reform schools."

Lily left the room. Serena shook her head and let out a disbelieving sound.

* * *

She was hurrying to school the next day, trotting down the sidewalk and struggling to keep her bookbag over her shoulder, when—suddenly—a slow, deep voice drifted up to her, much like the scent of garbage on a New York summer day.

"Hello, little girl."

She turned her head and saw that it was Chuck, peering at her through the open window of his limo. It was moving at a crawl alongside her.

"You want a ride?" He darted his eyes towards his lap insinuatingly. "I've got a nice big piece of candy in here with your name all over it."

Serena stopped in her tracks and stared at him, speechless.

"Come on, Serena, you're running late and your bookbag is about to burst at the seams," Chuck said, unlocking the door. "Hop in."

She swallowed, jerked the limo door open, and slid into the seat.

"So why haven't you returned any of my _sexts_, Van der Woodsen?" he purred at her, sliding a hand up her thigh. By now the limo was moving at a regular speed. "I was starting to worry that—"

"Get your hands off me, you fucker," Serena said, almost spitting with rage. "I cannot believe what you pulled on me the other night."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Chuck said, holding up his palms defensively. "From whence comes this hostility? I thought we had a lot of fun together."

"You didn't _tell me_ that Bart and Lily broke up. You _lied_ to me."

"Oh, come now," Chuck said in a blasé voice, and began to adjust his cuff links. "I may have neglected to mention the dramatic scene that transpired in the apartment earlier that evening, but I certainly didn't _lie_ to you."

"Same difference! You tricked me into sleeping with you!"

"No—I tricked you into _making out_ with me," Chuck corrected. "I was just getting my foot in the door. But _you—_" (he reached out a finger and tapped her on the nose) "_You_ were the one who invited me in and took me to bed."

She couldn't believe it. The nerve of him! "_Fuck you_, Chuck Bass," she hissed.

"Oo," he said in a titillated voice, pursing his lips. "Serena_, _say my name again. It brings back such beautiful memories of—"

She drew back her fist and punched him in the face.

_Well, those private kickboxing lessons had certainly paid off._

_"__OW_," Chuck yelled, bending forward, clutching at his right eye. "You crazy—" (he punched the seat in front of him several times) "—fucking bitch! _Arthur!" _he bellowed through the glass partition."Stop the limo!"

"Listen to me, Bass," Serena growled as the limo screeched to a halt. "If you tell _anyone_ about this—"

"Don't worry about it," Chuck scoffed, still clutching his face. "It's not like it was a _challenge_ to get you out of your pants. I'd feel almost embarrassed going around bragging about it."

"Not as embarrassed as you will be when everyone finds out about your little issue with _premature ejaculation_."

Chuck stared at her. "You wouldn't _dare_."

Serena held up her phone and smiled. "Try me. I've got Gossip Girl at the top of my contact list." She opened the limo door and stepped out onto the curb.

"_Fine_," Chuck said venomously. "It never happened."

"Damn straight it didn't," Serena said, and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

Oh, the dramz! God, this chapter was hella fun to write. Not to toot my own horn, but I HIGHLY recommend that you take a look at the first scene with Chuck and Serena in the pilot episode after reading this chapter; it makes perfect sense why Serena dislikes him so much and why she's so critical (or protective?) of Blair when she starts sleeping with Chuck later in the season.

Anyways, this is the end of Serena's epic flashback. We'll get Dan's reaction to her story in the next episode.

Have I mentioned that I _love_ getting reviews from you? Keep 'em coming!


	8. The Heart She has Won from Me

At Blair and Serena's apartment.

* * *

Dan let out a sigh. He was sitting on the edge of Serena's bed with his back towards her, and Serena was sitting cross-legged in its center, hugging a pillow to her chest.

"You know," he said, "I really didn't think it was possible for me to like Chuck Bass any less, but you—" he laughed bitterly. "—you've proved me wrong."

"Dan, come on," Serena said, feeling protective of Chuck. "It's not like it was the first time that a fifteen-year-old boy fudged the facts just so he could get laid."

"Yeah. And that night when he tried to _rape_ my sister, that wasn't exactly the first historical instance of sexual assault either. But it doesn't make it right, now does it?"

Serena was surprised at the edge in his voice. "That was a long time ago, Dan," she murmured. "He's changed. We all have."

"Well. That part is certainly true." Dan stood up from the bed and began to pace around the room with his hands in his pockets. "Serena, I want you to tell me the truth about something."

"Okay," Serena said.

"Did you—leak the story to Gossip Girl?"

Serena was silent for a moment before mumbling in the affirmative.

"Why." The sad twinge in Dan's voice made her heart ache.

She looked up at him. "I—" She swallowed hard. "Seeing you with Blair really upset me, and—it made me realize that I still have…deep feelings for you. So I thought this would make you jealous, and—you'd realize that you still have feelings for me. Childish, I know, but…" She trailed off and shrugged.

Dan let out a disbelieving laugh. "Ah—okay. Okay, Serena. I'm—" he turned around and began to pace more quickly. "Let me try to unravel the logic here. You—suddenly you want me back. After I was the _only_ person who believed you when you claimed that you were drugged and left for dead in a motel in Queens. After you kissed me, told me that you had chosen me over Nate and that you wanted to be with _me_. After you skipped town and _hooked up _with some pervy ex-teacher of yours who had been plotting to, I don't know, _destroy your life_ until about five minutes ago."

"Dan—" Serena interjected, but Dan held out a hand, silencing her.

"So—you saw me kiss Blair and it was _at that moment_ that you decided that you had to make some grand romantic gesture to impress me with your devotion. And so you leaked a story on GOSSIP GIRL that you slept with the person that I hate most in the entire world. Brilliant—_brilliant_ plan."

"Well, so did _Blair!_" Serena said, upset. This conversation was not going the way that she'd planned, and she was beginning to feel sick to her stomach. "Sleep with Chuck, I mean. About a million times more than me. And she _loves_ him. They pretty much promised each other that they would be together again one day. Did you know that?"

"That's—" Dan swallowed and shook his head. "That's not the point, Serena."

"Well, what is the point?" Serena asked. "I mean, obviously when you read the blast it upset you, or you wouldn't have gone to the Palace to yell at Chuck and you wouldn't be here yelling at me."

Dan blinked. "You know that I went to the Palace, you—of course. You and Chuck are in this together."

"Well, actually, that was on Gossip Girl too," Serena mumbled. "Someone snapped a picture of you two in the Palace restaurant…"

"_Look_," Dan almost yelled. Serena had never seen him look so agitated. "_Of course_ the blast made me upset. Yes, I was _upset_ to learn that you had had sex with the guy who de-virginated my little sister. Someone who has inspired me to commit acts of physical violence on numerous occasions. Someone whom I hate with a hatred that burns like the fire of a thousand suns. I _hate_ Chuck Bass. And it kills me to know that you were off fucking him—and apparently having the _best. sex. ever_!—while I was sitting in my loft in Brooklyn, by myself, scribbling poems about the girl of my dreams. The girl I thought would never notice me. Serena van der Woodsen. The girl who was, meanwhile, at that very moment, off _having sex_ with Chuck motherfucking _Bass_."

He picked up an ornament off of her dresser and threw it against the wall. Serena let out a yelp as it burst into shards and scattered all over the floor.

"So, yes," Dan said in a flat voice, this gesture having apparently had a calming effect upon him. "_Upset_. That is the right word for it."

At that moment the door cracked open and Dorota popped in her head. "Mees Serena! What happen here? What is broken?"

"Oh, it's nothing, Dorota," Serena said, trying to keep her voice nonchalant. She slid off the bed onto her feet. "Dan just knocked over my oak tree. It's okay; I'll clean it up."

Dorota looked at Dan, and he held up his hands.

"I—butterfingers," he said, wiggling his fingers.

"Hmmph," Dorota grunted suspiciously. She nodded at Serena. "You put on slippers before you walk on floor."

"I will, Dorota. Thank you."

Dorota gave them both one last glance before closing the door.

Serena knelt down and picked up a fragment of porcelain. "My father gave me this," she murmured, blinking back tears.

Dan let out a sigh and put a hand to his forehead. "Serena. I'm sorry."

"It's—" Serena shook her head, rose to her feet and looked at him, her eyes welling with tears. "Dan—the best sex I ever had was _not_ with Chuck. That—wasn't meaningful at all. It was purely physiological. Stimulus-response. It was just _fun_."

He looked at her.

"The best sex I ever had was with you," she continued. "No one has ever made me felt more beautiful, more wanted, more _contented_ than you. And that's why I want to be with you, Dan. I—I want you back."

Dan bit his lip. He walked over to the bed, sat down, and looked at his hands. "Serena," he said. "—oh, God, this is going to be hard."

"What? What is it?" Serena said, sitting down beside him. A feeling of dread began to turn like a corkscrew in her chest.

Dan swallowed. "I—you know," he said, seeming to have settled on what he was going to say, "after I talked to Chuck, I started walking to your apartment, and, uh, you know, it's a long walk, so I started to think. And the thing I was thinking—it was, 'I wonder if Chuck Bass could have me killed.'"

Serena let out a snort.

"No," Dan insisted, "I'm serious. I may have been a bit paranoid, but, you know, I figured, Chuck is rich, he's got a lot of connections, and some of those connections are probably some not-very-nice people, and, if he wanted to, he could probably have me killed, chopped into little bits and dumped into the Hudson. Now—the reason I started wondering about this—it's…the way that Chuck was talking about Blair. I've never heard anyone talk like that before. It was like something out of _Wuthering Heights_—'I don't just love Blair—I _am_ Blair.' Or 'Blair isn't just mine; she's _me_.' Something like that. Anyways."

Dan paused for a moment. "I realized then," he continued, "that Chuck would never stop trying to get Blair back. He would literally do anything. He would never give up. And—after I thought it over for about, oh, ten blocks and reached the conclusion that he _probably_ wouldn't take a hit out on me—at least, not _yet_—I got to thinking, and then it hit me. I thought, 'Wow. You know what? I cannot _imagine_ Serena ever saying anything like that about me.' I mean, 'I don't just love Dan, I _am_ Dan?' I mean, the idea. It's—" he let out a bitter laugh. "—completely ludicrous."

"Dan," Serena broke in, her voice quavering. "I _do_ love you."

"You love me _right now_," Dan acceded. "This minute. This hour. But what about tomorrow? What about next week?"

"I'll love you then too," Serena said, sniffling, and brushed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Serena—" Dan ground the heel of his hand into his eye socket. "You know that I'm—it's no secret. I'm crazy about you. I have been ever since I first saw you. On rare occasions I've been able to distract myself, I've dated other people, but—as soon as I see you, as soon as we have a moment alone together, it's like everything crumbles and I just—stupidly love you again. But—and it's taken me a long time to figure this out, but—you just don't feel the same way about me as I do about you."

"No," Serena insisted, wiping away more tears. "That's not true."

"Well, it _feels_ true to me," Dan said. "This—it's like—you want some imaginary guy who'll stick by you no matter what, but you expect that he'll just _understand_ when you suddenly _check out_ of the relationship. When you disappear without an explanation for weeks. When you betray his trust. When you _lie_. And then you show back up and say 'I'm sorry, I should have told you.' But —it's just too much to ask." He let out a long breath. "Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I should want to fight for you, maybe I should stick by you no matter what, but—" he wiped his eyes. "What we have—it just isn't reciprocal. You just keep coming back to me because some other guy has been treating you like shit and you know that I'll be decent to you, but—you don't really want me."

"No, Dan," Serena insisted, grabbing his arm. "That's not true. I _do_—I do want you."

"Serena," he said, standing up and shaking off her grasp. "I'm—" he swallowed and blinked, trying to hold back his tears. "I—I just can't do this anymore." He stood up and headed for the door.

"Dan," Serena wailed after him. "Please. Please don't give up on me yet."

He stopped at the door. Hesitated. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I think I just did."

He left, closing the door after him, and Serena threw herself on the bed and sobbed.

* * *

Well, _that_ chapter turned out to be a downer. This wasn't what I had originally planned, but when I thought about the mistakes that Serena makes in relationships (_over_ and over and over again) things just naturally fell into place. What do you think? Should Dan have given Serena another chance?

To everyone who wants to know what Blair thinks about this mess, don't worry, she's in the next chapter.


	9. Birds in the Sky

At long last, a chapter that's all Blair.

* * *

**Spotted: A picture-perfect Queen B buzzing 'round La Guardia. Skipping town, B? Can't say that I blame you, but I do have to admire you for looking so good while you do. They say it's the best revenge…**

Blair Waldorf was having a terrible day.

It had started out well. Upon awakening she had been greeted by the promise of a brand new life. True, she and _W_ were no longer an item (sadsies), but that could only mean the text from Cyrus was a sign from God. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to meet her favorite fashion photo-blogger was one of the best things that could happen to her right now. Given her skill set, _savoir-faire_ and impeccable fashion sense, at the very least she expected Schuman to offer her a formal interview (which she planned to fast-track to publication through her Condé Naste contacts); at the most, an assistantship that might well propel her into a career as a globe-trotting industry insider.

Unfortunately, as Murphy's Law had proven time and time again, anything that can go wrong _will_ go wrong.

She had to take a cab to La Guardia, because the car company lost her reservation; on the way there, she discovered that she'd grabbed the wrong stack of résumés (with BLAIR WADLORF at the top in bold vermilion letters), and her cell phone, which still reeked of fair-trade shade-grown Peruvian coffee, was flickering on and off, and her desperate attempts to revive it proved futile.

She couldn't access Schuman's itinerary, so she had no idea which terminal to go to. After circling La Guardia a couple of times she just picked a random spot and ordered her driver to stop. On the off chance of getting better reception, she walked around outside the airport, weaving in and out of groups of smokers, hissing profanities and scowling at her cell phone. (Meanwhile, the wind blew her hair all over the place, unraveling her carefully set curls.)

Finally, when it became all-too apparent that there was nothing more she could do, she discovered that her cab had vanished. It had been replaced by another, more…_pungent_ one. Now, her best-laid plans gone awry, she was riding back to her apartment in the Upper East Side, feeling defeated and alone, in a cab that smelled like day-old chicken curry, and chicken curry smelled like failure to Blair Waldorf.

Blair looked down the stack of résumés at her misspelled name and sighed. She didn't feel like Queen B anymore. She felt like another, more pathetic version of herself. Like Blair Wadlorf. Bizarro-Blair, who couldn't manage a simple trip to the airport, even with a hot opportunity on the line.

On top of everything, there was that tiny little incident last night that she'd been doing her damnedest to forget.

Blair stepped out of the cab, nodded at her doorman and glided through the door of her apartment building, the heels of her boots clacking on the white marble floor. Upon entering the elevator, she recalled the unpleasant scene in her apartment that morning. She couldn't _believe_ that Dan Humphrey had simply showed up without giving advance notice. How uncouth. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't even tried to talk to _her_.

"_Hi. Um—actually, I'm here to see Serena."_

Blair Waldorf had never had much difficulty when it came to understanding other people's motives and turning them to her own advantage. Her complex grasp of human psychology gave her an almost uncanny ability to detect weaknesses in her opponents and anticipate their future shifts in allegiance. When she considered the people around her, she sometimes found it difficult to stop herself from mentally arranging them, setting them in factions and pitting them against one another. Her endgame was always the same—complete social dominion; one day, _dynasty_. She could see it as clearly as a master chess player spots a checkmate eight moves down the line.

Wondering what the hell someone else was thinking was not a state in which she often found herself.

Blair let out a deep breath. She'd been working too hard, she hadn't been getting enough sleep, and she'd kept herself out of the Gossip Girl loop. Well, all of that was going to change as soon as she figured out what the hell Humphrey was doing back in her apartment.

"Mees Blair, Mees Blair!" Dorota said in an urgent whisper, scuttling up to Blair as soon as she walked through the front door. "Meester Dan and Mees Serena are having fight in bedroom, and to my ears, it is serious."

"You're _kidding_," Blair said. She may have been out of the game lately, but a Dan-Serena grudge-match wasn't even a blip on her radar. "What are on earth are they fighting about?"

"I don't know. I heard Meester Dan say something about Meester Chuck. Then he throw Mees Serena's tree ornament against wall and it break into a million little pieces."

Blair's ears had perked up at the sound of Chuck's name. "Chuck? Dorota—" (she grabbed Dorota by the arm) "—what did he say about Chuck?"

Dorota made a helpless gesture. "That is all I heard. Come—" she said, lowering her voice, "—we go listen through bathroom door."

Together they tiptoed into the bathroom adjoining the suite, and Blair, after elbowing Dorota for the more strategic position, laid her ear against the door.

On the other side she heard Dan's voice.

"—chopped into little bits and dumped into the Hudson. Now—the reason I started wondering about this—it's…the way that Chuck was talking about Blair."

(Here both of them widened their eyes and pressed their ears harder against the door.)

"I've never heard anyone talk like that before. It was like something out of _Wuthering Heights_—'I don't just love Blair—I _am_ Blair.' Or 'Blair isn't just mine; she's _me_.' Something like that. Anyways—"

Blair felt a pang in her chest—a strange, painfully sweet sensation. It felt as though a bird that was caught behind her ribcage had suddenly begun to beat its wings against her heart. She looked at Dorota with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape, and Dorota smiled and laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder, as if to say if she'd known it all along.

Transported for a moment, she had to make a conscious effort to turn her attention back to what Dan was saying on the other side of the door.

"— never stop trying to get Blair back. He would literally do anything. He would never give up. And—after I thought it over for about, oh, ten blocks and reached the conclusion that he _probably _wouldn't take a hit out on me—at least, not _yet_—I got to thinking, and then it hit me. I thought, 'Wow. You know what? I cannot _imagine_ Serena ever saying anything like that about me.' I mean, 'I don't just love Dan, I _am_ Dan?' I mean, the idea. It's—" they heard the sound of a bitter laugh. "—completely ludicrous."

"Dan," they heard Serena interject, sounding more than a little upset. "I _do_ love you."

"You love me _right now_. This minute. This hour. But what about tomorrow? What about next week?" Dan's voice was beginning to sound rough, as if these words were jagged, almost too difficult to speak.

Here Dorota made an attempt to tug Blair away from the door. "Mees Blair," she murmured, "I think this part of argument is maybe not our business."

Blair scowled and held up a shushing finger, and Dorota sighed, crossing her arms in evident disapproval.

Blair kept her ear to the door, her expression growing more and more agitated, until, finally, they heard Dan half-slam the door to Serena's bedroom as he left. They heard his footsteps disappear down the hallway, and, through the door, the sound of Serena starting to wail.

"My goodness," Dorota whispered to Blair, her eyes round with surprise.

"I—I don't know what to do, Dorota," Blair confessed.

"You go comfort Mees Serena," Dorota said with furrowed eyebrows. "What else?"

"I..._can't_," Blair squeaked.

"Look," Dorota said forcefully, bending down and pulling Blair by the shoulders. "Whatever happen between you and Dan Hoomphrey, right now doesn't matter. Mees Serena needs you. You go talk to her."

Blair rose to her feet reluctantly.

"And take tissues," Dorota commanded, shoving a box of Kleenex into her hands.

Blair carefully cracked open the door to Serena's room and slowly tip-toed towards the bed. Her best friend was lying flat on her stomach, hugging her pillow to her face and letting out long, wounded-sounding sobs that racked her body up and down.

She sat down on the bed next to her and laid her hand down gently on her back. "Serena," she said in a soft voice.

Sniffling, Serena lifted her head and turned to look at her friend. Her face contorted in a spasm of pain, and she dove into Blair's open arms, sobbing.

"Shhhhhhhh," Blair murmured in a comforting voice, combing her hands through Serena's hair and rocking her torso back and forth. "Shhhhhhhh."

They stayed that way for a long while.

"_How long?"_

"_Until you finish crying," Serena said in a bright voice, scratching Blair's back in a comforting way. They were seven, hiding out in the school bathroom. During recess Blair had fallen down in a mud puddle at the bottom of the slide and splashed her white tights with mud. She had immediately burst into tears, and Serena, seeing what had happened, had whisked her away to the girls' bathroom. There she'd attempted to clean the mud off her friend's stockings with dampened paper towels. This had improved the situation somewhat, but when Blair saw that her stockings were going to stay dingy, she wailed "No one else can see me like this!" and wiped her runny nose on the back of her hand._

"_B, it's okay. You look fine. Besides, everyone's been playing in the mud. We're all messy. Look at my shoes." Serena lifted a foot, displaying a mud-splattered Mary Jane._

"_No," the young Blair insisted, her chin wobbling. "I have to be perfect." _

"_Oh, B," the young Serena said, and laughed, her golden hair cascading round her face. "You don't have to be perfect. You're fine the way you are." _

Blair smiled at the memory, and began to scratch Serena's back in a comforting way.

"B," she heard Serena suddenly bleat. Her head was still on Blair's shoulder; her blonde hair curtained her face.

"S," she replied.

"Dan doesn't want me anymore." Serena's voice sounded flat. Emptied-out.

Blair let out a sigh and tried to think of something comforting to say. Given the circumstances, this was a difficult task.

"I think—" she began haltingly. "I think—no matter what, Serena—Dan will always have a special place for you in his heart. You were—his first real love. Maybe you still are; I don't know. But—all I can say is, the pain that you're feeling right now—it does get better with time. It may seem like that's impossible right now, but—I promise you—it's not."

_It _is _impossible at first_, she thought. _ You feel like your life just splintered into bits, like a ship in a violent storm. And the salt waves wash your body up onto the rocks of an island with no sun, no singing birds, no food to eat or water to drink. And day after day passes, and you lie there, too weak to move, and wonder if this is how you'll die. _

_And then one day...a rainstorm. And you open your mouth and drink the rivulets of water that are streaming down your face. And with the strength that it gives you, you creep to where the jungle meets the shore. The next day, a bird rustles in the boughs of a paw-paw tree, and a piece of fruit falls, oozing sweet nectar, into your lap. You eat it. And the next day, when you see the sun peek from behind the clouds, you know with absolute certainty that you will survive._

_Not live_—survive_. Because when you've lost a love of that magnitude, that's the only way to describe what you're doing._

"Everything gets better, S," Blair said, and ended there. Before she said the whole truth.

_But nothing gets _good.

Serena slowly lifted her head and raked back her hair with her fingers, and Blair looked at her friend's face and saw that—at least for the moment—she had no more tears to shed. She was plainly exhausted.

It was therefore to her complete and utter surprise when Serena lifted her eyes and said, in that flat, empty voice, "We saw you together."

Blair heard herself gasp. "Serena—" she started to say, but Serena continued before she could even begin to formulate a reply.

"Me and Chuck. That's why we sent out the blast. Pretty shitty, huh?"

"Wait. Serena—" Blair interrupted, frowning. "What are on earth you talking about?"

But Serena—glassy-eyed, wooden-faced—was already rambling on. "I should have told you years ago I slept with Chuck. I should have told you sophomore year right after it happened, but I was so pissed at him for being such a dick about it…"

Serena was still talking, but Blair suddenly discovered that she was no longer listening. Through eyes wide with horror she watched as Serena's mouth formed the shapes of words, but somehow not the _sounds_. It was exactly as if someone had pressed the mute button on the remote control of reality.

In her shell-shocked brain she heard only crisping static.

It was only when Serena looked at her, mouthed "B? B? B? Are you okay?" and shook her by the shoulders that Blair's sense of hearing returned. And the first thing she heard was a high-pitched, deafening screech that came rocketing out of her own mouth like a bat out of hell.

**"You—_WHAT?"_**

* * *

_oh snap_


	10. What might be in your Basket?

Here's the dream chapter, at long last in its proper place. Also, you probably guessed this already, but Chuck Bass has a **dirty**, guilty mind.

Again, if you're allergic to C/S smut, a forewarning: Serena does appear in a somewhat siren-esque form, but Chuck's encounter with her is not a very satisfying one.

Because I am the biggest nerd in the world, I decided to annotate the dream vision in order to explain its logic and symbolism. I tried to add html superscript and hyperlink to the footnotes below, but I guess the site doesn't allow it.

* * *

Chuck Bass was dreaming.

He was in a dark forest, a fairy-tale wood, walking a dirt path bordered with primeval trees1. Their trunks twisted upwards; their branches crisscrossed in an overhead vault, obscuring the sky and veiling the wood in shadows. He walked along the path, hearing leaves crunch in the darkness around him, the shuffling feet of unseen beasts, the mating calls of insects.

Suddenly he stepped into a circular clearing. Before him lay a fairy ring of mushrooms, illuminated by low greenish light.

In the center sat a beautiful boy, cross-legged, playing an ocarina2. He was about thirteen or fourteen years old, dark-haired and pale, with a pink flush in his cheeks and lips as red as pomegranate3. Chuck slowly approached him until he stepped on a twig with a _snap_, and the boy stopped playing and looked up at him. His eyes were black and fierce, as wild as the wood itself.

"Where have you been, lost boy?" said the wild-eyed boy with some impatience. "Don't tell me the old man hooked you again. I thought we fed him to the crocodile years ago4."

"Who are you?" Chuck said, amazed.

"Who am I?" the boy cried in outrage, jumping to his feet. He walked up to Chuck until their noses were only inches apart, and Chuck realized that they were the exact same height. "Who am _I_? I'm _Peter Pan_. King of Neverland. Ally of the Indian tribe, friend of the mermaids, captain of the Lost Boys. '_Who am_ _I_?'" he said, scoffing. "That's a question you should be asking yourself5. What are you carrying in that basket6?"

Chuck saw that he was indeed carrying a basket in his right hand. He flipped back the lid and saw a large fish flopping in the bottom, gasping desperately for breath.

"It's dying," he said in alarm. "I have to go throw it in the lake7."

"Turn around and go back down the same path," Peter Pan said. "And when you reach the lake, watch out for the _sirenas_."

"The what?"

"Sirenas. Mermaids. Once they've pulled you under the water they never let you go8."

Chuck turned and ran back into the woods, into its heart of darkness, heading for the lake.

Suddenly he was blinded by a flash of cold bright white light. He clenched his eyes shut as red and green circles danced and overlapped beneath his eyelids; he blinked several times, rubbed his eyes, and the world began to fall into place.

He was in a black-box theatre, surrounded on three sides by an audience that was veiled in darkness. He could just barely make out that they were in evening dress; he could tell from the stark contrast of white shirts and black ties, the light gleaming off the round lenses of opera glasses, the glittering necklaces around women's necks9.

He turned and saw that he was standing at the front of a square platform—the stage. It was completely washed out with white light. In the very center of it was a low bed, and in the bed, covered with a white sheet, was Serena.

"Chuck," she said, reaching out towards him with an imploring hand. "Where have you been?"

"Serena. I—" he hesitated. "I don't know." He shot a look at the audience, and then sat on the bed next to her and leaned in close to speak to her in a low voice. "Serena, what are we doing here?"

"Don't you remember?" she said. "We're putting on a show10. A benefit for Bass Industries. You have to kiss me." She laid her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss.

Chuck broke away from her and saw that the sheet had slid down her chest, unveiling her naked breasts. "Serena, I don't know about this," he stammered, but she put his hand on one of her breasts and kissed him again, and from the stirring of his cock he realized he was growing aroused in spite of himself11.

"The tickets cost a million dollars each," she said. "We have to give them what they paid for." She crumpled up the sheet with one hand and cast it aside onto the stage, revealing her naked body, and laid down on the bed on her back. Chuck couldn't stop his eyes from roaming all over her body—her perfect natural breasts, her flat stomach, her long legs. She took his hand and pulled it towards her crotch; she parted the cleft between her legs with his fingers. Two of them slid inside of her—she was already soaking wet—and she began to moan.

Around them on all sides he heard the audience murmur appreciatively, and upon looking down he realized he was not only naked—he had a raging erection. Serena reached into his lap and began to stroke him with a pleasurably tight grasp; he groaned with pleasure and continued to penetrate her with his fingers.

In the audience he heard the rustle of a program being read; someone else unwrapped a piece of candy; another person coughed.

He looked up, distracted and annoyed, but Serena sat up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"You have to have sex with me now," she said, loud enough for everyone sitting in the front rows to hear, and a cavalcade of whistles and catcalls rang throughout the theater.

"Serena, I don't know if I can," Chuck said, looking around at the audience, but she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him on top of her. She didn't even have to guide him inside—he slid into her almost instantly, and he gasped as he felt her envelop his cock.

She was so hot and wet and tight that he was momentarily overwhelmed, and, in an unthinking, automatic way, began to fuck her, but then he heard the audience laughing and cheering, and he looked up. All around them he saw a scatter of little lights flash-flash-flashing, and he realized that everyone in the audience was holding out a phone, snapping pictures. Suddenly there was a woman in a business suit standing onstage with her back to him; he couldn't see her face. Silhouetted by a spotlight, she cooed into a microphone: "Gossip Girl here, boys and girls. Who says you can't catch a bass with his pants down12?"

Chuck screamed and twisted himself away from Serena. "I can't! I can't! This is beyond fucked." He covered his face with his hands, and the room fell silent.

When he removed his hands from his face, he saw that everyone had disappeared, and the theater was empty. Somewhere above him he heard a rustling noise. He looked up into the air, and he watched as four thick red curtains unfurled themselves from the scaffolds13. They plummeted downwards, flapping, like the sail of a ship in the wind, and hit the floor with a velvety sound.

The red curtains enclosed the stage on all sides. Looking down, he realized that he was dressed again.

Suddenly, there was Blair, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed, looking as though she might cry. She was wearing a ruffled white dress and a red cape and hood, and she held a basket on her lap14.

"Blair," he said, beyond grateful to see her. "What's wrong?"

Her bottom lip trembled, and tears pooled in her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she said in a choked-up voice, "but I ate all the goodies in the basket15."

"Oh, that's okay," Chuck said in a consoling voice, putting his arm around her and rubbing her shoulders. "That's okay."

"I was supposed to take them to _grandmother_16," Blair wailed, letting her head fall against his chest.

"Well, we'll just go out and buy some more," Chuck said, pulling her tighter against him.

"There aren't any left," Blair said, sniffling. "That's all the goodies there were17."

"Don't worry," Chuck said, grabbing her shoulders and turning her towards him. "Blair. From now on you and I are going to take care of each other."

Blair still looked a bit unsure.

"Don't you hear me?" Chuck said, tucking a curl of hair behind her ear. "Neither of us has to walk through the woods alone anymore. I promise."

He reached down, took her hands, and raised them to his lips; he closed his eyes and reverently kissed her on each palm18. "I love your tiny little hands," he said, looking into her brown eyes, which were still rimmed by tears.

"I love you," she said.

Chuck leaned forward to kiss her ruby lips—

And then woke up.

He was sitting on the mod sofa in his Empire suite, his legs spread out, still wearing his shoes and suit jacket. In his right hand was a sweating glass of scotch with a half-melted ice cube floating in the center. He looked at the clock—3:40PM. He couldn't have been out for more than 20 minutes.

"What a crazy fucking dream," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Then he heard the click-clack of high-heels on the hardwood floor, and turned his head to the side. There, standing in the doorway, with arms crossed, was Blair Waldorf. And she wasn't crying.

* * *

1 In addition to the pun on Serena's name (van der Woodsen), the woods have an association with danger and the unknown. They may also represent a crux in one's life, and/or threshold into another world. See the opening lines of Dante's Inferno, Canto I: "Midway on our life's journey, I found myself in a dark wood, for the right path had been lost." I also think of Sondheim's musical _Into the Wood_s, the namesake of this fanfic, in which various characters from fairy tales venture into the woods in pursuit of their heart's wish, but soon discover that their actions have unexpected consequences.

2 A hodge-podge from fantasy literature, reinforcing the idea that this is a liminal space between worlds. Here there are echoes of _The Hobbit_, _Alice in Wonderland_, and _The Legend of Zelda _game series_,_ as well as traditional fairy tales and, of course, _Peter Pan_.

3 Pomegranates are a reference to the myth of Hades and Persephone, and often symbolize sexual awakening and/or the loss of virginity. We can see that Chuck is preoccupied with Blair here; his mind has drawn from her physical appearance in order to generate Peter Pan. The most obvious link is the color of their lips.

4 The fact that Peter Pan calls Chuck a "lost boy" comes from his memory of his night with Serena, as well as his troubled childhood, which makes "lost boy" such an appropriate appellation for him. The "old man" who "hooked" Chuck again is, of course, his father (or his father's legacy). Here Bart Bass is conflated with the villainous Captain Hook, who was eaten by a crocodile in the Peter Pan story.

5 The theme of the dream emerges. Chuck is in the middle of an identity crisis. The fact that he is the same height as Peter Pan suggests that he realizes that he, too, refuses to grow up.

6 The basket casts Chuck in the role of Little Red Riding Hood, vulnerable and alone in the woods. It's also a pun on Chuck's name: bass-ket. Dreams create meaning through visual/linguistic association, and often an object is substituted in place of a word or concept.

7 Another obvious pun on Chuck's name: I have to THROW (chuck) the FISH (bass) in the lake. Chuck realizes that he is in a dangerous situation.

8 A pun on Serena's name, and a reference to the sirens of Greek mythology. Chuck seems to be warning himself that women, especially seductive women, represent a major threat to him and his happiness.

9 Very much an upper-class audience. There is also an oblique reference to the opening scene at the opera in Wharton's _Age of Innocence._

10 Here Chuck and Serena's affair is publicly exposed. This is, of course, precisely what they did when they sent their story to Gossip Girl.

11 Some reviewers complained because they thought that this dream meant that Chuck was still attracted to Serena, but this is clearly an anxiety dream and is a deeply unpleasant experience for Chuck. The fact that he becomes aroused doesn't change that fact; the sense of _being on display_ ends up negating all of the pleasure here.

12 Gossip Girl's metaphor is mixed and doesn't make much sense. Language is often garbled in dreams.

13 The red curtains represent the incursion of another liminal space—the threshold of revelation. (It's also a wink at David Lynch, who often employs this motif in his surreal cinema.) Their color is also a link to the red dress that Blair wears. The fact that they seem to have a calming effect on Chuck is not a coincidence.

14 Little Red Riding Hood again, obviously. In casting Blair as Little Red, Chuck may be casting himself in the role of the wolf, which would make sense given the story's obvious sexual undertones. However, it's important to remember that identity is extremely unstable in dreams, and often there are shifts and/or merges in the various dream-personae. Here we see that Chuck, per his earlier statement to Dan ("[Blair] is me"), strongly identifies himself with Blair, since earlier in the dream _he_ was alone, walking through the woods, and carrying the basket.

15 This statement has many potential meanings. It seems to indicate that Blair is unable to _control her appetite_; this may be a reference to her bulimia, but it also works when applied to her _sexual_ appetite, of which Chuck, having just seen her with Dan Humphrey, may be feeling a tad judgmental. On the other hand, since the dream does not clearly delineate Blair from Chuck, he may actually be judging himself, thinking "I can't control my sexual appetite; I've destroyed everything _good_ about myself/my life."

16 Another reference to the Little Red Riding Hood story, which represents the fear that one has disappointed/failed to meet one's obligations to one's elders. This is, of course, a major concern of Chuck's.

17 Again, Chuck fears that everything _good_ about him is irrecoverably gone; it can't be bought back, he may not be able to redeem himself.

18 In complimenting her "tiny little hands," Chuck somewhat infantilizes Blair. This may represent his desire to "take care" of her, but through the dream he may also be acknowledging that he himself feels like a "motherless child," or "lost boy," in need of someone to accompany him through the woods. Again, his unconscious mind does not (perhaps _cannot_) clearly separate his identity from Blair's. In the deepest parts of him, there's no way of telling where "Chuck" begins and "Blair" ends.


	11. The One to Blame

At the Empire penthouse.

* * *

"Blair," Chuck said. He blinked his eyes, as if the image of his ex-girlfriend standing in the doorway might be a mirage. "I was just dreaming about you."

"Really," she said skeptically, her arms still crossed across her chest.

"Actually, it was a nightmare," Chuck corrected. He wiped his forehead with his hand and realized he was sweating. "At least, it _was_ a nightmare until you showed up." He removed his handkerchief from his pocket and began to dab at his temples.

"Oh? I would have thought it would have been the other way around," Blair said in a clipped voice. "I'm surprised I wasn't standing over you breathing fire, with a hundred arms waving swords and a string of decapitated heads around my neck."

"That is...quite an image," Chuck said, raising his eyebrows. "But I can't say that I think that goddess-of-vengeance becomes you. Fortunately for me, in my dreams you tend to be far more…_accommodating_. Though you were a mite upset in this one."

"Upset? You sure that's the word for it?"

"What would you suggest?"

"I don't know. _Murderous_, perhaps?"

Chuck rose from the sofa and walked over to the bar, where he poured himself a glass of water. "I take it you saw the blast," he said, shaking a pair of aspirin into his hand and swilling them down.

"No, Chuck, I didn't see the blast. Serena told me about it. Apparently she suddenly decided she loved Dan Humphrey again, and it was all part of some ridiculous, ill-thought-out plan to lure him back to her."

"Hmm. That does sound like a terrible plan."

"Oh, cut the crap, Bass," Blair hissed. "Serena already told me that you were behind this scheme. Honestly, if she hadn't, I would have never _believed_ you were involved. It's sloppy. Badly executed. Hardly up to your usual standard."

"Well, did it work?"

"What do you _mean_, 'did it work?'" Blair cried.

"Did he take her back?"

"Of course not! He walked out on her. Which is what anyone with a modicum of sense would have predicted."

"He walked out on her?" Chuck said, a little surprised. "Huh." He took another swallow of water, emptying the glass. "Good for him," he muttered.

"'Good for him?'" she asked, incredulous. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Chuck didn't reply. Instead, he set out two glasses, uncorked the decanter on the bar and poured out two scotches.

"_You_." Blair realized something. "You've got that look on your face again. You—you planned this out. You knew that this would blow up in Serena's face."

"It did seem likely," Chuck admitted.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Blair demanded. "I just spent the past _three hours_ with Serena. The whole time I just wanted to scream at her for leaking the story of your revolting adolescent affair to Gossip Girl, but I just couldn't do it. She's completely heartbroken. I could only get in a few reproaches at a time before I had to pause and let her cry on my shoulder. My new silk blouse is _covered_ in mascara stains! And now you're telling me that you _wanted_ Humphrey to break her heart? What kind of a monster are you?"

"Blair," Chuck said in a patient way. "Please. Hear me out." He gestured towards the sofa.

Blair sat down, glowering, and accepted the glass that he offered her. "I'm warning you, Bass," she said, and threw back the scotch at one go. "You've got one shot. This had fucking _better_ be good." She set the glass onto the floor with a _clack_.

"Blair," Chuck said. "Before you and I got involved, whenever I screwed up, everyone just…accepted it. Because they expected it from me, and they thought I would never change. Then—you came along. And you refused to accept it. And when you did that, I realized that I had to change the way I thought about relationships if I wanted to keep anyone around for while. It took me a lot longer than it should have to figure that out."

He paused, and Blair's expression became a little, just a little, less ferocious.

"Serena's been all over the place lately. For the past couple of years she's been unable to commit to anyone or anything for more than a month or two. I've watched her screw up one relationship after another, and when she does, she just leaves it behind and moves on to the next. And she expects everyone to accommodate her when she comes back, and they _do. _They just pretend like nothing ever happened. And I've been waiting for someone to lay down the law and say to her—'Enough.' But no one has."

"That's not true, Chuck. _I_ have told Serena _numerous_ times that—"

Chuck held up his hand. "Believe me, Blair, I know that you've been _trying_. But she won't listen to you. Or to Lily. Honestly—" he coughed. "I think that Serena's the type of girl who will only listen to the guy she's dating at the time. But none of her little boy-toys would ever stand up to her. Not Carter Baizen, not Nate, not Dan, not that skeezy professor of hers, or that creep Ben—none of them. Until now.

"Today, for the first time in her life, a guy refused to take Serena's bullshit. And that is exactly what she needs right now. Not someone to roll over and let her walk all over him. Someone to make her realize that she needs to change the way she thinks about love. That it isn't something you _feel_—it's something you _do_. And it takes a hell of a lot of practice to do it right.

"Basically—she needed a Blair Waldorf. In…male form. And I'm happy that Humphrey manned up. To be honest, I wasn't sure he had it in him." Chuck drank from his glass.

In spite of herself, Blair was impressed. Still, that wasn't nearly enough to assuage the anger that was still boiling inside her.

"Your little double-cross may yet prove to have a positive effect," she admitted. "But that still doesn't justify what you did. You have an obvious vested interest in the matter."

"You mean breaking up your dalliance with Humphrey Dumphrey?" Chuck asked.

"Wasn't that part of your plan? For me to see Serena in hysterics? And to feel so guilty about seeing Humphrey behind her back that I would immediately break it off?"

Chuck was silent for a moment. "You don't belong with him, Blair," he finally said.

"Chuck Bass, who the hell are _you_ to tell me who I belong with?" Blair said, infuriated.

Chuck didn't respond—he just clenched his jaw and looked at the bottom of his glass—and she felt her eyes fill with tears of frustration and pain.

"I cannot _believe_ you slept with my best friend," she suddenly erupted, her voice cracking, tears spilling onto her cheeks. "You were the _one person_ I thought had _ALWAYS_ wanted me more." Her face contorted, and she wiped the tears from her cheekbones, shaking her head angrily.

"Blair," Chuck cut in. His voice was slow and insistent, "Believe me, I always did. But you were dating my best friend. And—I never thought you would ever think I was good enough for you. Because—" He let out a bitter laugh. "Let's face it—I _wasn't_."

Blair didn't say anything; she just shook her head and stared ahead with bleary eyes. Chuck let out a breath and gingerly sat down on the sofa. He was careful to stay a few feet away from her.

"When you and I were dating," he said in a soft voice, "I wanted to tell you _so_ many times. I was dying to get it off my chest. But I just couldn't."

"Why? Why couldn't you?"

"Blair. I know you. I know how you feel about Serena. I think you can probably imagine why I never told you about that night."

"'_That night_,'" she repeated, sniffling. "So…that was it?" She looked up at him. "That's the _only time_ that anything ever happened between you?"

Chuck opened his mouth.

"If there's anything else, you had better tell me now," she said.

Chuck sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Okay." He paused. "Right after Serena came back from boarding school…I made a pass at her. A pretty—aggressive pass. It's not something I'm not proud of."

Blair continued to look at him. "Anything else?"

"No," Chuck said, and scratched at the back of his head. "Well."

"_Chuck_," she warned.

"There may have been—one other isolated incident," he said with obvious reluctance. "It was—right before Serena broke up with Dan…the first time. We didn't even touch each other, but it was still—nowhere near appropriate. If you want details, I'll give them to you. But other than that…" He trailed off, and began again. "Blair, Serena and I haven't had so much as a pheromonally-charged conversation in years. And _definitely_ not since our parents got married. That's the truth. I swear to you."

Blair looked at the floor and sighed. "Yeah," she said. "That's pretty much exactly what Serena said when I asked her the same thing."

Chuck let out a disbelieving sound. "You were testing me?"

"Can you blame me?" she returned in a bitter voice.

"Test me all you want, Blair," Chuck said. "I don't want to hide anything anymore."

Blair looked down at her lap. "You know, Chuck—" she let out a mirthless laugh. "Believe it or not, Dan Humphrey's the only reason I'm here right now. Because—as twisted as it sounds, I overheard him say something, and it planted a seed of doubt in my mind. That you pulled this crazy stunt because you actually…still love me."

"Of course I still love you," he immediately returned. She looked up at him; she had never seen his dark eyes look so fierce, so intense. "I never _stopped_ loving you, Blair."

"I wasn't so sure after I saw you with Raina."

"Forget Raina," he said crossly, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Believe me—I already have."

"That easy for you, huh?" she said sarcastically.

Chuck didn't answer this. Instead, he rose to his feet, and walked over to where she was sitting, and, to her surprise, knelt down on the floor in front of her feet.

"Look," he said, looking up at her, "I have something important to say to you, and I want you to look at me while I say it."

She looked down at him. Waited.

Chuck took a deep breath, obviously a bit nervous, and began to speak. "Last night Russell Thorpe pulled something on me, Blair. He told me that my father intentionally set a fire. In order to kill someone."

"Chuck!" She was shocked. "That—it can't be true. You can't believe that."

"Blair—" Chuck shook his head. "That's not the point. The point is—it made me realize something."

He paused for a moment, and then continued. "All my life my father treated me like I was a disappointment at best. You know what my childhood was like. I barely ever saw him. I was raised by a series of chauffeurs and maids and au pairs. And the only way I could ever get my father's attention was to fuck up spectacularly. So I did fuck up—over and over again. I thought it was because I enjoyed spiting him, but now I see the truth. All I ever really wanted…was for him to love me."

Tears began to pool in his eyes, and Blair reached down and enveloped his hands in her own. "I'm sure he did," she murmured.

"Maybe," Chuck said in a choked-up voice. "But I'll never really know, Blair. He's gone. And what Thorpe said—true or untrue, it made me realize that I didn't know my father. And I never will.

"I've spent the last two years of my life trying to make a dead man happy," he continued. "I did the only thing I could think of—I tried to become a successful businessman. And in the process of doing that I pushed away everyone who truly cares about me. You. Lily." He shook his head. "As if you were somehow _less important_ than Bart Bass. A _corpse_. Rotting in the _ground_.

"So what I wanted to say was—I realized something. I need you, Blair. More than anyone. And not just right now—always. And I _promise_ that I'll never let anything—a person, a piece of property, a secret from the past—come between us again."

"Chuck—" Blair said. "I-I want to believe you—I want to believe it'll just…_be_ that way from now on—but I just don't know..."

"Blair—everything I have, everything I am, I want to share it with you. If you want it." He stopped, and continued, almost breathlessly. "If you want _me_."

She was silent, and he began to grow upset. "Do…do you still want me?" he asked haltingly.

Blair let out a deep breath, and opened her mouth, but still couldn't manage any words. She pulled her hands away from him.

"God, Blair," Chuck said, in a voice that was only half-joking. "Please don't tell me this has anything to do with Dan Humphrey."

"…and so what if it does?" she said softly, looking at her knees.

Chuck let out an ugly laugh. He rose to his feet and began to pace in a tight circle in front of her. "You've got to be kidding me. _Brooklyn?_ Really, Blair?"

Blair looked up at him, her expression neutral.

"It's just that it—it makes no logical sense," he sputtered, gesturing with a swoop of his right hand. "You and I, we're—_epic_. We're—" (he was searching for the right word) "—_mythological._ You and Humphrey_, _on the other hand? You're—a romantic fucking comedy. Something 11-year-old girls would like. PG-fucking-rated!"

He kicked over a barstool, which clattered on the floor, and, turning away so that Blair couldn't see, he laid a trembling hand over the ache in his heart.

Blair rose to her feet. "Chuck," she said. "I'm sorry. But I have to go right now." She grabbed her purse off the couch and slung it over her shoulder.

"No—no, Blair, please don't go," he said, with an imploring gesture. "I'm sorry I lost my temper, I—"

"Look, I'll come back," she said. "I just have to—go meet someone. We—we already made plans."

"And by someone you mean…Humphrey?"

She sighed. "I _said_ I would come back."

"Please," Chuck said, coming up to her and putting his hands on her waist. "Blair. Please don't go to him."

He nuzzled his face into her neck, and suddenly she found that she was clasping him in her arms, pulling his body more tightly against hers—and then his hands were sliding up her back, and she was intoxicated by the smell of his skin, and his lips were beginning to kiss her neck—but with a little cry she broke away from him, stepped backwards and said, in her most imperious voice, "Chuck Bass. I swear to you on all that is holy that I will come back here tonight."

Chuck let out a breath. Deflated. "You'll be back here by 8?" he asked.

"Yes," she said with conviction.

"Promise?"

She lifted her hands; she cradled his face. "Yes," she said, looking into his eyes.

The touch of her hands seemed to calm him. "Okay," he said. "But look—I want you to text me if you're going to be late, okay? The last time I thought you stood me up...I kind of lost my mind."

Blair sighed. "I really should have texted you that night, shouldn't I have?" she asked, wincing.

"Yeah," Chuck said. "You should've."

She gave him one more gentle look, touched her hand lightly to his chest, and left.

* * *

Sorry that I've delayed your gratification yet again, but I promise (I hope?) it to be in the interest of a better story.

I'd love your thoughts on this one. And major points to anyone who spots the _Twin Peaks_ reference in this chapter!


	12. The Thicket

A cavalcade of texts in the wake of the GG blast.

* * *

8AM

**Nate to Chuck:** Dude. Seriously?

* * *

9:14AM

**Jessica to Penelope**: Did you see the GG blast?  
**Penelope to Jessica:** ? Hold on Im gonna look now  
**Penelope:** !  
**Penelope:** OMFG. Any word from Blair on the Serena vagina?  
**Jessica:** WHAT?  
**Penelope:** Shit. Autocorrect fail. Serena situation.  
**Jessica:** haha omg I am crying right now  
**Jessica:** SERENA VAGINA!  
**Jessica:** IT MUST BE DESTROYED

* * *

10:52AM

**Carter to Chuck:** ok that's one for you Bass  
**Carter to Chuck:** you fucking bastard

* * *

12:01PM

**Jenny to Vanessa:** dear god is there anyone left on the UES who hasn't fucked Chuck Bass  
**Vanessa:** let me think  
**Vanessa:** …  
**Vanessa**: nope

* * *

3:25PM

**Erik to Serena:** In the name of all that is holy and good please tell me that this isn't true

**Erik to Serena:** You aren't replying. Oh God it IS true  
**Erik to Serena:** Just realized something. I AM THE ONLY ONE IN THIS FAMILY WHO HASN'T HAD SEX WITH ONE OF MY STEPSIBLINGS  
**Erik to Serena:** Something is DEEPLY wrong here

* * *

4:11PM

**Chuck to Dan:** Is Blair with you right now?  
**Dan:** no.  
**Dan:** but she will be soon.  
**Chuck:** Come to the Empire. I want to talk to you.  
**Dan:** uh  
**Dan:** no.  
**Chuck:** You can find another girl to date. But I could never love anyone but her.  
**Chuck: **Please.

* * *

4:16PM

**Dorota to Vanya:** I will be coming late home tonight, order pizza  
**Vanya:** :( will miss you. why  
**Dorota:** must hide all sharp pointy objects in apartment before Miss Blair come back  
**Dorota:** long story

* * *

Did you notice that there's one dramatic text amid all the amusing ones? By the next chapter, Blair will have arrived to meet Dan, and we'll find out what happened the night of the kiss (and how they really feel about each other).

Thanks for reading and for your reviews.


	13. Let the Moment Go

Here it is. The Dan + Blair chapter. And it's probably not what you expected.

* * *

Dan Humphrey was sitting in a bar off Union Square that dated back to the 19th century. Inside, it was all high ceilings, gleaming oak and sculpted porticoes. Some unkempt hipsters drank PBR at one end of the bar; an old man with a bulbous red nose and a feathery beard swilled whiskey at the other. He had selected it carefully. It was out of the way, private. Perfect for his rendezvous with Blair.

He shook his head, thinking about the unlikely series of events that had brought him here today. A lonesome holiday break. A few Nouvelle Vague films. A talk with his father. And a night spent wandering the streets, block after block, tilling the earth of his mind.

Then, suddenly, he was standing in Blair's foyer, rambling about the kind of thoughts that worm their way into your brain and won't go away, and he was awkwardly touching her shoulder, and she was looking up at him with a child's round eyes and he was wondering if his mouth would ever stop moving in that stammery way.

"_Just one kiss. Then we can know without a doubt."_

"_I suppose that would work," Blair said, in an uncertain voice. "One kiss and that's that."_

"_One kiss and that's that," Dan repeated._

"_So." _

"_So."_

_He stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out how to approach her, where to put his hands. Suddenly he felt like he was back in middle school, still ignorant of the basic physics of kissing._

"_Oh, for crying out loud, Humphrey!" she said, exasperated, and grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him towards her. _

_T__heir front teeth clonked together and they jerked back from each other, crying out in pain._

"_Well. That was unfortunate," he said in a wry voice._

"_Look, Humphrey, this is obviously a sign," Blair said, flustered, as she rubbed her teeth. "You should just go and we'll forget this ever hap—"_

"_I don't believe in signs, Blair," he interrupted. With a new sense of conviction, he took a step forward, and, tilting her face up with his hands, leaned down and kissed her. _

_Dan Humphrey had always thought that kissing Blair Waldorf would be…well. Like Tony Curtis's famously glib comment about kissing Marilyn Monroe in _Some Like It Hot_. Like kissing Hitler. Only in the case of Blair, the comparison was even more appropriate, given her fondness for leather footwear and dictatorial impulses. But as he began to kiss her in earnest, he had to admit that it was not an entirely unpleasant sensation. Her lips were soft, and she moved her mouth in a slow, sensual rhythm that was easy for him to follow. Soon they fell in a pattern of kiss, counter-kiss, which to him felt perfectly natural. _

_When her little hands slid up over his shoulders and encircled his neck he began to think that she might be reacting to him in a similar way. He let his hands fall down around her body and, pressing one between her shoulder blades, the other on the inward curve at the small of her back, pulled her closer towards him and deepened their kiss. They remained that way for a few seconds, and then her hands slid down the backs of his arms (he was happier than he would have liked to admit that he'd just done triceps the day before), arrested him around the elbows, and gave them a gentle squeeze. He slowly ended the kiss, let his hands fall away from her and looked her in the eyes. _

_She was staring at him as though he were an alien life form._

"_Um," Blair said._

"_Yeah," Dan said._

"_Don't talk," she said, with a forbidding gesture of one hand._

"_Um…okay?"_

"_Look, we'll—meet up tomorrow," she said. "After—we've had time to process this."_

"_Uh, that wasn't the point, Blair," Dan said. "The point was to find out if there's anything between us or not. So either there is…or there isn't."_

"_And I need some time to _think about it_, Humphrey," Blair snapped. " So. Tomorrow."_

"_Okay, fine," Dan said, a little frustrated. "Um...dinner?"_

"_Coffee," Blair corrected, with a flutter of the eyebrows that meant he had been overly presumptuous in asking for a dinner date. "4:30. Find somewhere out of the way. Somewhere where no one will know us. Somewhere…in the Village." She shuddered. "And text me directions. You can—" she waved her hand. "Show yourself out." _

_With that she turned and walked back towards her bedroom._

"_Okay," he called out after her, a few beats late, and cringed at its awkward sound. He turned and pressed the elevator button, giving one last look in her direction. _Good night, Blair_, he mentally added._

Lost in his memory of the night before, Dan was startled when, suddenly—there was Blair, sliding into the other side of his booth.

His heart gave a series of nervous thumps against the inside of his chest.

"This doesn't look like a coffee shop, Humphrey," she commented, removing her gloves. Rubbing the table with the tip of her finger, she wrinkled her nose at the rough grain of the wood and looked up at him disapprovingly.

"Well," he said, "considering today's, uh, unexpected course of events, I thought you might be interested in a drink." He raised his pint of stout and tipped his head at her. "I'm already on my second." He drank from his glass and set it back on the table.

"I already had a scotch, myself," Blair admitted. "But truth be told I wouldn't mind another." She waved a dainty finger at the bartender, who gave her a baffled look and continued to wipe down the bar with a white towel. She angrily beckoned to him again, pointing to Dan's glass. (He eventually sauntered over with another pint.)

"You've been with Chuck?" Dan asked, blinking. "Did you…uh."

"What." Blair's tone that made it clear that she was not about to be judged.

"Happen to—say anything about me? Because he sent me a really bizarre text that made think…" he trailed off.

"Made you think what?"

"Made me think—that you made _him _think that you were, uh…maybe kind of into me."

She looked at him, wide-eyed.

"Blair, are you—" Dan was feeling more awkward by the second. "_Into me_? Because, honestly, I never thought I'd be getting a 'Jolene' text from Chuck Bass."

"Wait—wait a minute," she said, holding up her hand. "Are you saying that—Chuck _asked_ you to stay away from me?"

"Pretty much. Well, '_begged'_ is probably a better word for it, but…"

Blair looked down at her lap, shaking her head, and sighed.

"Yeah, I know," Dan said. "It's kind of unbelievable, considering…hey. How are you—holding up, by the way? Because, honestly, you're a lot calmer than I expected."

"Why?" Blair said dully. "What did you expect? For me to break apart like a little china doll?"

"Well. No. Let's see, um…" Dan thought it over for a second. "More like…I expected to find you perched on top of Chuck and Serena's mangled corpses, picking your teeth with their _bones_."

Blair laughed.

"Thanks, Humphrey," she said, rubbing her eyes. "That was my first real laugh today. Honestly, though," she went on, "I must still be in shock. My retaliatory impulse seems to be…out of order or something."

"Well, I say we fly to Vegas and get married. That'll show 'em," Dan said with a gung-ho swing of his arm. When Blair didn't even crack a smile, he hurriedly added, "That was a joke, by the way, I don't really want to—"

"Humphrey," Blair almost shouted. "I'm not—_into_ you. Okay?"

Dan stared at her for a beat. "Uh—" he began, she signaled him to wait.

"_But_—" Blair paused, and began to speak in a gentler voice, "—I'm not _not_ into you either. If you know what I mean."

She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, and they looked at each other for a second.

"I…I think I do," Dan said with dawning recognition.

"Last night…when we kissed, I realized...it could really go either way," Blair admitted. "But…only if you weren't you. And I weren't…well, _me_. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Dan said. "I feel the same…" He shook his head and started over. "Blair—look, obviously, you're beautiful. And I'm not going to deny that kissing you was a…pleasurable experience."

"Me too," Blair reluctantly agreed. "I mean—aside from the 'beautiful' part," she said with a little wave of her hand. "You're only moderately hot." She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes.

Dan let out a laugh that was mostly just air, and shook his head at her in disbelief.

"Sorry," she peeped, sipping her drink. "Old habits, you know. Please go on."

"Look. For Chuck and Serena to send out that blast was a stupid and hurtful thing to do," Dan said. "But I'd be lying if I claimed that this whole thing hasn't had an effect on me. I realized—" he let out a sigh. "Blair, I have to try and get over Serena. I've been in love with her for years, and for most of the time it's caused me nothing but heartache. But—I'm not over her _yet_. I'm not even _close_ to being over her, in fact. And—if you're anything like me, I'd hazard a guess that you're not over Chuck, either."

"I don't know what to do," she said softly. "He told me he wants me back."

"Yeah, uh—that doesn't surprise me. But, uh…do _you_ want _him_ back?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "But the rest of the time I'm so angry at him that—I really just want to kill him."

"That sounds—" Dan laughed. "Reassuringly familiar."

"Well, there's one more thing we have in common, Humphrey," Blair said glumly. "We're both in love with emotionally stunted imbeciles who sleep around way more than they should."

"Yeah, well, at least Chuck loves you back," he mumbled, drinking from his glass of stout.

"Oh. Serena loves you, Dan," Blair said, widening her eyes. "Really, she does."

"Yeah?" Dan returned bitterly. "You know—I thought that once, too. But then she started dating Ben _five minutes_ after declaring that she_ really_ wanted to be with me. And now I think I've just—I've lost my faith in her, Blair."

"Haven't you noticed _anything_ about Serena over the years?" Blair said in an exasperated tone. "Guilt makes her really stupid. Like, _so _stupid that you could probably argue in a court of law that it counts as _mental incapacitation_. Like an _insanity_ plea."

Dan let out a laugh, and Blair continued. "Anyways, she felt so guilty about what her mother did to Ben that…honestly, it was kind of inevitable. But it doesn't mean that her feelings about you are less real. It just means that she doesn't know how to act on them yet."

"But she might _one day_?" Dan asked. "That's what you're…implying?"

"Well, yeah," Blair said, her expression guileless and gentle. "I think so."

They were quiet for a moment before Dan broke the silence.

"I really do like you, Blair. You're attractive, witty, you're—" He cut himself off. "If anything _were_ to happen between us," he continued, "I—I really wouldn't want it to be under these circumstances. You know?"

Blair nodded.

"I mean, we're both still crazy about our exes," Dan continued, "and—we're already swimming against the current here, what with our long-standing vendetta and all. I mean, for the vast majority of our relationship we haven't exactly been close…we tolerated each other at _best_, and—"

He paused. "There's one other thought that I just can't shake. And maybe it's silly for me to even think in this way, because we're _twenty_, but we're just—completely different people. I think that if you took a picture of my future life, my _ideal_ future life, about, I don't know, ten or so years from now, and held it up next to yours—well, they probably wouldn't match up very well. At _all_, even."

Blair had a look of sudden inspiration. "Let's try it and see."

"Wh—what do you mean?"

"Hold them up to one another. Our future lives, ten years from now. I'll do yours and you do mine."

"Umm—okay."

"I'll go first," she announced. "Ahem. Daniel Humphrey." She licked her lips and shifted her weight in her seat. "Townhouse in Brooklyn Heights. A published writer—short stories, for the most part, but your first full-length novel just came out. It took you _forever_ to finish writing it, by the way," she added with a roll of her eyes. "None of us thought you would ever finish it, but you did. So—good for you. And…you're co-director of a local theatre collaborative. You've got a share in a small black box theater, and your company stages about three new plays a year."

"Oo, I like that idea," Dan said, beginning to warm to this vision of his future.

"Member of a community garden—organic and sustainable, of course."

"Of course."

"On weekends you have potluck brunches and your friends come over. You play soccer games in Prospect Park when it's nice outside. Sometimes Nate comes out to play. And—" Blair's eyes went out of focus, as if she really were seeing through a mist into the future. "You have this gorgeous girlfriend," she continued. "Sunny disposition. Owns a Vespa. And…she cooks authentic Thai food, and recites obscure poetry in bed. And…you two have a fat adorable baby. Maybe. I know that you like babies. But I'm not sure about that part yet."

"Umm, Blair," Dan said, obviously moved, "that's actually…really nice. Wow. Okay. My turn." He cleared his throat. "Blair Waldorf. Penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side."

"Well, that goes without saying."

"High-powered career in a competitive industry—I'm not sure what exactly, but one thing's for sure, you definitely have a bunch of underlings to order around. And…when it comes to fashion, you're still a dictator of taste. In fact—_you_ publish a book, too. 'On Style.' By Blair Cornelia Waldorf. It makes the New York Times Bestseller List. Meanwhile, my novel is languishing in obscurity."

"Oh, don't worry, Humphrey," Blair said, smiling. "I already pressured my publishing contacts into reviewing it. It's only a matter of time before the award nominations start rolling in."

"Why, that's very kind of you, Waldorf."

"You're welcome. Keep going."

"Well, you're, uh, a very busy woman. Social committees, charity balls, fashion shows. Cotillion—you and Serena are running it together. She wasn't real hyped about it at first, but you convinced her to help you out, and now it's one of your traditions. And… you attend film festivals throughout the year. Cannes, Venice, Berlin. Of course,_ I_ can't afford to go to them, but as soon as you get back to the city you call me and you give me a detailed report on everything you saw. And I'm jealous of you, but I try to hide it."

"And?"

"And…what? I—I thought I did a pretty good job there."

"Humphrey."

Dan sighed. "And." He paused for a moment, and then continued reluctantly. "There's a wealthy—well-dressed—powerful man. Who's…powerless without you by his side."

Blair blinked.

"You know, it's crazy," he said, smiling wryly and shaking his head. "_I _was the one writing the story of your life, and somehow you _still_ ended up with Chuck Bass."

"You really hate him, don't you?" she said in a quiet voice.

"I do, kinda. Yeah. But he does have one redeeming quality."

"What's that?"

Dan shrugged. "He loves you."

A pause. They looked at each other.

"So. To our futures," Dan said, raising his glass. "Our…completely incompatible, yet equally happy futures."

With a far-away look in her eyes, Blair raised her glass and clinked it against his, but she seemed to forget to raise it to her lips.

"I—" she stammered. "I—I think I need to go. I have to run an errand—before…"

"Blair—you don't have to explain," Dan said. "Believe me, I get it."

She exhaled and smiled at him. "Friends, huh?"

"Yeah. Friends. I mean, for now," he suddenly added.

Blair shot him a look.

"Well, you know," Dan said, "I wasn't going to mention it, but, uhh, now that we're _friends_ I do kinda have this opening that I need to fill. In my social circle."

"What's the job description?" Blair asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Nemesis. Why? Are you interested?"

"Humphrey, why must you insult me?" Blair said. She began to pull on her gloves. "You know I'll accept nothing less than arch-nemesis."

"Oh, come on!" Dan said. "That's a promotion in title only. The duties and salary are exactly the same."

"If that's the case, then you shouldn't have a problem with calling me _arch_-nemesis."

"Fine, arch-nemesis. You're hired—_re-_hired. Report to work on Monday."

They smiled, and looked at each other for a moment. Then Blair stood up, and Dan did the same.

"Goodbye, Dan," she said in an affectionate tone, holding out her gloved hand.

He took it, and then, to her surprise, raised the inside of her wrist to his lips. Kissed it. Let it go.

"Goodbye, Blair."

She floated out of the door, and Dan Humphrey, turning back to the table, realized that Blair Waldorf had left him to pay for the drinks.

* * *

_aww that was all sweet 'n shit_

I would really like people's thoughts on this one. Honestly, I found the whole plot device of "one kiss and that's that" to be kind of dumb. It's not like you kiss someone and you suddenly know whether you're meant to be or not. It's more likely to make things MORE confusing, so that's how I played it here.

Oh yeah, one more thing. I went back and updated the dream chapter ("What might be in your Basket?") and added notes, so that everyone would understand what I was trying to do with its symbolism. So if you're interested, go back and give it a read; I'd love to hear your comments on it, too.


	14. What's the Good in being Good?

At Blair and Serena's apartment.

* * *

"What about this one?"

"It's too tight."

"Serena, _all_ of your clothes are too tight."

"_Erik_!"

"Sorry," Erik hastily apologized. He was sitting on the corner of Serena's bed, sifting through a stack of dresses on hangers. "I didn't realize that was one of those things that I'm not supposed to say out loud."

Serena took the dress from him, lifted it up, and inspected it. "It's cute, but it's two seasons ago," she said, handing it back to him. "Throw it on the pile going to the consignment shop."

Open suitcases were scattered across the floor of Serena's room, half-filled with silk scarves, leather bombers, and mini-skirts. An old-fashioned trunk was standing in the corner, already clasped shut. A stack of latticed leather boots lay at its bottom, and high heels of varying heights, carefully placed into drawstring plastic bags, were nestled on top.

"Are you sure you're going to need all of these clothes?" Erik asked. He glanced at a flowy yellow gown (in a shade that had never done anything for Serena's complexion, he noted) and quickly tossed it onto the consignment pile without asking her approval. "You're only coming home for a few days."

"Uh, yeah. I'm not really sure about that," Serena said in a low voice.

"Blair's pretty mad, huh?" Erik asked. He had a look of concern in his eyes.

Serena sighed. "Let's just say it'll be better for our friendship if I clear out of here for a while," she said, throwing her flat-iron into one of the suitcases. "And I really should be at home with you and Mom right now. Especially with all of the legal issues she's facing right now." She tucked her hair behind her ear and tucked several pairs of lacey underwear into a hidden pocket in one of the suitcases.

"It'll be nice to have you around," Erik admitted. "I've—I've missed you. You know? Even just, like, having breakfast together. The place feels more empty without you."

Serena sat down next to him and wrapped her arm around him. "Erik, I'm sorry I haven't been around more. I know that your life hasn't been easy lately. I mean, breaking up with Elliot, and then—this whole Damien thing."

"I was an idiot."

"No," she insisted. "He took advantage of you. You were lonely. And that was my fault. I should have been there for you."

"It's okay," Erik mumbled. "I get it, I mean—you have, like, your own life. Friends, boyfriends, school, parties…" He gave a quick shrug. "If I had that much going on, I'm sure I'd be…distracted, too."

"Erik." Serena's voice was filled with conviction. "You've always, always stood by me, whenever I needed you. And now I'm going to do the same for you. And for Mom."

Erik clasped her hands tightly between his, and smiled at her. It was a warm, genuine smile that Serena hadn't seen in a long time.

"Then now is as good as time as any to tell you that this dress—" (he gestured towards the top of the stack with his head) "—_has_ to go."

Serena gasped. "My John Galliano! Noooo—Erik!" She let out a little laugh, clutching the flimsy garment to her chest.

"Serena, it shows your _breasts_."

"Only _part_ of them," she whined.

"Only most of them," Erik gently corrected. "That kind of look…it really doesn't suit you, Serena."

Sighing, Serena relinquished the dress, which Erik deposited on the pile with a flourish. "I'm trusting you on this one, E," she warned.

"Looking back five years from now, you won't regret it, I promise you," Erik said. "Which I sincerely doubt applies to you _today_." He raised his eyebrows at her knowingly.

"God, Erik—" Serena moaned, letting her face fall into the palms of her hands. "_Please_ help me keep Mom from finding out about the blast. She calls Chuck her son. Not her step-son—her _son_. Can you _imagine_?"

"Don't worry," Erik said in a consoling voice. "Jonathan and I already set up a firewall blocking Gossip Girl on her laptop and Blackberry. Sometime might tell her about it, but for the time being let's just hope that no one on the Upper East Side is gauche enough to broach the subject. I mean—awkward much?"

Serena raised an eyebrow. "Wait. You and…Jonathan?"

"We're just hanging out," Erik said quickly. "That's all."

Serena bit her lip, smirking, and shoved him with her shoulder.

"Hey. Cut it out," Erik protested, but he couldn't suppress a smile. "Jonathan and I….well. It's very…open, at the moment."

"_Okay,"_ Serena droned in an insinuating voice.

All of a sudden, Erik looked thoughtful. "You know, Serena," he said, a bit hesitant. "Chuck texted me today."

"…he did?"

"He wanted to make sure you were doing all right. And I told him that I was already on my way here. And he wrote back, 'good work, little brother."'

"Huh." Serena paused for a moment. Knitted her eyebrows. "Do you think he meant like, you were _his_ little brother, or just—that he meant, like, you were a good little brother to _me_?"

Erik laughed. "I've been wondering the same thing. Y'know, I really don't get why human beings _text_. I mean, this is the 'communication age,' and we choose to rely upon the most ambiguous form of communication _possible_. Why is that?"

"Maybe…we just don't want people to know what we really mean," Serena said slowly, "or—who we really are."

She and Erik looked at each other for a beat. "That sounded kinda smart, huh?" she said, nudging him and smiling.

"No. It sounded _wise_." He looked at her appraisingly. "You really are growing up, you know?"

"It's two steps forward, one step back," Serena said. "It's a process. But I'm _trying_."

At that moment Blair appeared in the doorway of the room. She stopped and lingered there, pressing her hand against the frame.

"Hi, Blair," Erik said, looking up at her.

"Hey, Erik," Blair said. She smiled and batted her eyelashes. "Could I borrow Serena for a minute?"

Erik looked at Serena questioningly, and she gave him a nod. "Sure," he said, rising from the bed. "I think Dorota's doing…something in the kitchen."

He left the room.

Blair and Serena regarded each other for a moment.

"You look…_better_," Blair said, a note of surprise in her voice.

"Yeah. Um. Erik gave me a couple of his Valium," Serena admitted, scratching the side of her head. "Look, um, B. I know we need to have a real talk. I realize that that wasn't really…possible before. What with, you know, the crying, the wailing, and the running nose and all. So. Um, sit down?"

Blair compliantly sat on Serena's bed, several feet away from her, and took a deep breath.

"Look, S," she began. "I'm really pissed at you."

Serena nodded.

"Maybe I should have told you about me and Humphrey," Blair conceded, "but—kiss notwithstanding, he and I are JUST FRIENDS—let's just clear that up now."

"Oh, thank God," Serena moaned, putting her hands on her face. "That is such a relief."

"_But_!" Blair continued in a strict voice. "Making a public announcement on the Internet that you hooked up with my ex was _hardly_ an appropriate response to the situation."

"I _know_, B," Serena interrupted. "But when we saw you together…keep in mind that you were, like, _really_ kissing—" (Blair's cheeks reddened slightly at this) "—and we had no idea how long it had been going on, or how serious you were. And it was just such a shock to see you two like _that_—me and Chuck, we just kind of _freaked out_. And we acted impulsively, and after drinking…well, drinking way too much."

"Still. Let's face it, S. It was kind of _high school_," Blair said in an angry tone. "Honestly, I'd hoped that we were done with that shit."

"I hoped so, too," Serena murmured. She looked up at Blair. "I'm—I'm really sorry, B."

Her expression was plaintive and honest. The face of the same girl that she'd always, always known. The girl she couldn't imagine her life without. And, seeing the regret in her best friend's eyes, Blair felt a little twinge in her heart.

"Well," Blair said, and blinked several times. "As much as I _would _like to murder you for slutting it up with Chuck sophomore year—" (she let out a deep breath) "–it's not completely fair. I mean, it was _years_ before anything ever happened between us. Not to mention the fact that he was best friends with my boyfriend at the time…." She trailed off.

"You know," Serena added, as a memory flashed in her eyes, "when I think back to high school—back then I thought you'd be with Nate _forever_. I mean, you two were just so…perfect."

"_Too_ perfect," Blair agreed, sighing. "We never had a real relationship. It was all in my head—we were the prince and princess of the Upper East Side." She smiled wistfully. "You know, I had our entire life together planned out. I even _illustrated_ it."

"Oh, I remember," Serena said. "Isn't the box with the wedding designs still somewhere under your bed?"

They both giggled.

"It was really very sweet," Blair reflected. "But…we were just acting out a fairy-tale. And fairy-tales are fragile things. And as soon as mine started to break apart I ran off to be with Chuck. Which…well. It was where I belonged the whole time."

"Still, B. Back then I _never_ would have thought that you'd end up dating _Chuck_. I mean, who could have predicted _that_?

"Well," Blair said thoughtfully, "anyone who ever saw us scheme together. There's nothing like a calculated conspiracy to get the blood going." She shot Serena a devilish smile, her eyes sparkling.

"That's not something a princess would say," Serena remarked, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

"Exactly." Blair said, and flicked her eyes up at Serena. "I'm really more of an evil stepmother at heart. So. Bitch." (Serena let out a little laugh at this.) "Why on earth didn't you tell me about this ages ago?"

"You mean—about me having sex with Chuck? Well—" Serena rolled her eyes upwards in a thoughtful manner. "There…was never really a good time?" She gave an exaggerated comic shrug.

Blair let out a strange-sounding laugh. "No, I guess there wasn't," she admitted.

At that moment Erik poked his head into the room, holding his cell phone a few inches from his face. "Hey, Serena, sorry to interrupt, but—the driver wants to know when he should come round to the front?"

"Um," Serena said, "Maybe in like an hour? I still have some packing to do."

"Okay." Erik put the phone back to his ear and vanished from the doorway.

Blair looked around the room at all the open suitcases. "This seems like a stupid question, given the circumstances, but—are you moving _out_?" she asked.

"Just for a little while," Serena said, touching her hand gently to Blair's knee. "I really should be with my mom right now. You know she's in a lot of legal trouble."

"And you're taking the hoochie Galliano?" Blair said incredulously, lifting the garment in question from the bed and wrinkling her nose in disapproval. "S, I really don't think you should wear this to Lily's trial. It shows your _breasts_. You might get arrested for contempt of court."

Serena laughed. "That's the reject pile. I'm sending those to a consignment where the proceeds go to charity."

"Hmm," Blair hummed thoughtfully. "You know," she said, with a flash of inspiration in her eyes, "I can think of a much better use for them."

"What's that?"

Blair smiled her most devious smile. "Restoring my reputation as a force to be reckoned with," she said, scooping up the garments in her arms and walking towards the bathroom door.

Serena got up and followed her. "B, what are you doing?"

"Going to the window with the best view from the street," Blair shot back over her shoulder. She was plainly struggling to manage the entire pile; it was so big that she could barely see over it.

Serena jogged after her, a look of bemusement on her face. What on earth did Blair have in mind?

Heading through the connecting bathroom and nudging open the door to her room, Blair walked right up to the largest window in the corner by her full-length mirror. She opened it with a flick of her wrist, and let the pile of Serena's clothes topple out of her arms into the street below.

"B! What are you doing?" Serena yelled, running to look out of the window.

A rainbow of knits, gowns and skirts were slowly fluttering down to the sidewalk, and the passers-by were looking up in astonishment at the sudden downpour of luxury garments.

In the open window stood Blair, who, with a clenched fist raised at Serena, was yelling at a truly remarkable decibel. "DAMN YOU, Serena van der Woodsen. DAMN YOU TO HELL! GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT, YOU INCORRIGABLE FLOOZY. GET OUT!"

She shut the window with a bang, drew the curtains, and turning back around, gave Serena a little smile.

"You are unbelievable," Serena said.

"Betcha it'll be on Gossip Girl in ten," Blair said happily. "We wouldn't want anyone to think I've gone soft, would we? Oh—" (her expression suddenly changed as she got her first real look at her bedroom) "—Serena, _look_ at this."

Turning around, they saw that Blair's room was filled with white peonies—the bed, the side tables, the desk, the corners. Bundles and bundles of them, giving off a heavenly scent. A _clean_ scent. Like the smell of forgiveness.

"It's…really beautiful," Serena said, plainly touched.

Blair slowly reached down and picked up an envelope that was lying by the foot of the bed. Moving over to the desk, she brushed aside a few peonies and picked up a gold letter opener.

Serena edged over to her, wanting to see the handwriting on the envelope. "It's from Chuck?"

Blair looked up at her, still holding the letter opener upright, and opened her mouth to answer—but before she could, they heard a terrible shriek from the doorway of the room.

"NO, MEES BLAIR! NO!" Dorota yelled.

She scuttled forward and shoved herself between Blair and Serena. "I know you are angry at Mees Serena about Meester Chuck," she said quickly. "But take from me—I know from experience. Stabbing is not the answer!"

"Dorota!" Blair protested, with a theatrical roll of her eyes, as Serena let out a giggle. "I'm not going to _stab_ Serena! I just want to open this envelope."

"Hm," Dorota grunted, looking over at Serena as if to make sure she was still in one piece.

"Blair and I are fine, Dorota," Serena said, smiling. "Really."

She looked over questioningly at Blair, who nodded back at Serena. "Really," she confirmed.

"Well, _that_ is relief," Dorota said with a sigh. "When I heard horrible scream in kitchen and come in to see you holding sharp pointy object, I think attempted murder. You know you have nasty temper, Mees Blair."

Blair neither confirmed nor denied this, but one corner of her mouth twitched.

"Here, I open letter for you," Dorota continued. She took the letter opener from Blair, sliced the envelope open, and handed it over to her. "You two, be good to each other," she ordered, and left the room.

Only Serena noticed that Dorota took the letter opener with her.

"So we're good?" she asked Blair. "Really?"

"Yeah," Blair said. "We are." She shrugged and smiled. "When two people are really good friends, S—they're able to hurt each other. Really badly. But that's just because they're so close. _We're_ so close…closer than sisters. And though I think that we could do a better job of trying _not_ to hurt each another..." She exhaled. "I don't want that to change. So. Sisters?" She looked at Serena with bright eyes.

"Oh, B." Serena took her in her arms. "You really are the best."

"I know," Blair sighed, patting Serena's back. "I know."

Serena broke out of the hug and squeezed Blair's upper arms with her hands. "So what does the letter say?" she asked in the eager voice of a child.

Blair opened the note and quickly scanned its contents. "Hmm. Well. Chuck seems to be filled with remorse. And possibly violent jealousy," she added.

"Let me see," Serena reached over to try to take the note.

"What is wrong with you?" Blair scolded her. "Has that Valium taken away your sense of social propriety? This is a private note."

"I just want to know," Serena whined.

"Suffice it to say that he is currently consumed by the terrifying thought that I may be in love with Dan Humphrey," Blair said, looking at the note. She gave it a little nod of approval. "Good. He deserves a few hours of torture."

"Are you going to see him tonight?" Serena said.

Blair looked up at Serena and rolled her eyes. "Well, _duh_," she said. "Dorota!" she called out.

Dorota appeared in the doorway. "Mees Blair?"

"I need you to lay out a selection of gowns," Blair said. "I'm thinking—dramatic. Romantic. And more than my usual dose of sexy."

Dorota raised her eyebrow. "The occasion, Mees Blair?"

"Oh, _you know_," Blair said with a little wave of her hand. "I have to go torment Chuck Bass some more."

* * *

Thanks to alliecraws for convincing me that my story needed a real conversation between Blair and Serena. I do think that the overall narrative would have lacked something if I hadn't included this chapter.

One more chapter coming up. And yes, it will be all Chuck and Blair. Aren't you all just a-trembling with anticipation?

To all my reviewers, thanks, and to all of my non-reviewing readers, AKA lurkers, please consider leaving a review. It encourages me to write better and more quickly.


	15. All is Mended

At the Empire Penthouse.

* * *

**It's raining on 5th Avenue, boys and girls—raining **_**couture**_**, that is! Word has it that Queen B dumped her roommate's high-end wardrobe out of the window of her penthouse suite not fifteen minutes ago. If you're in the neighborhood, why not stop by and pick up a souvenir? There must be a couple of people left on the Upper East Side who haven't gotten their hands up Serena van der Woodsen's skirt yet!**

**I wonder if S will be exiting the Waldorf penthouse along with Messieurs Dior, Vuitton et Givenchy? Let's hope B has the courtesy to boot her out the front door instead of the window!**

**xoxo,**

**Gossip Girl**

When Chuck finished reading the blast, his brow furrowed. His eyes once again scanned over the text on his phone, and then he blinked in disbelief.

He thought that Blair had seemed angry earlier, but not so much that their relationship couldn't be repaired. If this blast were true, though, that might force him to change his prognosis of the situation.

He quickly turned his phone over and typed out a text with his thumbs. _Blair kicked you out?_ He hit send.

Serena's reply came almost instantly. _Yeah. Moving back 2 mom's._

Chuck's heart skipped a beat. Somewhere in the back of his mind he vaguely realized that he should say something comforting to Serena—at the very least apologize that he'd drawn her into this misbegotten scheme in the first place—but his first instinct was to ask her the question that had been tearing at his mind since Blair had left the Empire penthouse a few hours ago.

_What's going on between her and Humphrey? _

He paced back and forth, holding the phone in his hand, and turned it over to face him as soon as he felt it buzz in his palm.

_Been going on since Xmas. She's not going to stop seeing him._

If Chuck Bass had been a smoker, he would have lit a cigarette with a trembling hand.

He cursed himself. He'd been so stupid to assume that Blair would just come back to him. As if she hadn't been getting on with her own life the entire time he'd been trying to get Bass Industries back. As if she hadn't been seeing other—no. Other people, maybe. But _Humphrey_? He shook his head. This had to be some kind of joke.

He turned and looked over the penthouse balcony. The deck was now covered in a plush white carpet. In its center was a makeshift arbor—a canopy of criss-crossed flowering vines and sparkling lights—and underneath it lay an intimate table set for two. Beside it, a sweating bottle on champagne on ice, and gleaming silver trays, hiding under their domed lids delicacies that he knew Blair to love.

In light of recent revelations, the romantic set-up now seemed pathetic. But it was too late to change his game plan.

He reflected on the note he wrote to her.

_B—_

_I'm an idiot._

_Forgive me._

—_C_

_PS. I hope to God you're not serious about Dan Humphrey._

Okay, so maybe it was a _little_ unrefined. Somewhat lacking in poetic sensibility. But Chuck was and had always been a man of action, not words.

That's why Blair had fallen for him in the first place. It was the gestures he made. The Erickson Beamon necklace. His best man's speech. Her perfect prom night.

The Empire State Building.

He gritted his teeth at the painful memory. That was definitely a case in which _words_—a quick text, or even a phone call—could have saved him a world of trouble.

As could have saying "I love you" to Blair on that summer day in the Hamptons, he reflected with an angry shake of his head. If he had only played things right—and stayed away from loose women in the meantime—he and Blair would have been together for what? Three years now?

So yes. Perhaps he had underestimated the power of words. They had a nearly magical capacity when it came to healing relationships.

And to hurting them.

He heard a noise at the apartment entrance, and almost involuntarily he glanced at his reflection in the glass pane of the window and adjusted the knot in his bow tie. A uniformed servant glided through the door to the deck and announced the arrival of a "Miss Waldorf to see you, Mr. Bass." And there was Blair, standing in front of him, looking absolutely breathtaking.

She was wearing a blood-red gown. Full skirt, tapered waist, drop neck. Satin pumps. She carried a beaded clutch; she wore no jewelry. Her eyes were smoky; her lips crimson.

Her hair was twirled up in a messy up-do, and her slender neck was bare.

"Well, don't you look nice," Chuck croaked, and silently congratulated himself on the understatement of the year. He walked over to the table and poured out a couple of glasses of champagne, and then added in a casual voice, "Are you…going somewhere special after this or something?"

"As a matter of fact, I do have detailed plans for the evening," Blair said, slinking over to the balcony and leaning against the rail. She accepted a fluted glass from him, sipped her champagne, and looked out across the Manhattan cityscape with an unreadable smirk on her lips.

"Blair—" he began.

She turned around to face him, draped her arms over the railing, and flicked her eyes up at him questioningly.

She looked so incredibly sexy that he bit at the inside of his cheek to keep himself from reaching out and ripping down the front of her dress with one hand—and pulling her body into his with the other.

But she wasn't _his. _Not anymore. He had to remind himself of that.

"This is quite the set-up, Bass," she said. "I hope that I didn't give you the wrong impression earlier."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," she said with utter nonchalance. "That we'd have something to celebrate tonight?"

His heart plummeted in his chest. He tried to speak, but couldn't find the words.

At that moment Blair's phone chimed, and with a look of slight surprise she opened up her clutch, fished it out, and regarded it. A text from Dan popped up on the screen:

_You left me to pay for your drink. This will not stand, arch-nemesis. I WANT MY SIX DOLLARS! _

Blair smirked at this. Since she could practically feel the force of Chuck's jealous glare, she decided to text Humphrey back right away.

_Upper East Side queens don't pay for drinks, Humphrey. Did you grow up in a barn or something? Oh, wait…_

She clicked send.

"Well?" Blair asked in a crisp voice. She looked back up at Chuck, her face the picture of innocence. "Is there something that you wanted to say to me?"

Chuck edged closer to her, carefully. Like a beast approaching another beast in a cage.

"You. And…_Humphrey_." He didn't even try to keep the disdain out of his voice. "You've been…seeing each other. Since Christmas."

"Mm-hmm." Blair hummed.

Chuck looked at the bottom of his glass. "Is it serious?"

"Define 'serious.'" Blair sipped her champagne.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Does he _mean_ anything to you, Blair?" he hissed.

Blair looked disgusted. "Of course he does," she said. "What kind of a question is that?"

Chuck clenched his jaw and, turning his back to her, looked off into the distance.

"Well, _someone's_ upset," Blair observed.

"Of _course_ I'm upset," he spat out angrily. "How did you expect me to react?"

"I didn't think you'd react like _that_," she returned. "Not like you haven't been off screwing randoms or dating _Raina_ or anything."

"I told you, Blair," Chuck growled. "Raina and I are over. She's already moved on. As a matter of fact, she's probably off getting _stuffed_ by Nate right now." (Her eyes widened at this.) "Not that that really matters to me. I have no interest in her anymore."

"Well. I can't say that I saw _that _one coming," Blair murmured into the brim of her glass.

"What? Raina and Nate?" Chuck let out an angry laugh. "Well, I sure as hell didn't see you and _Humphrey_ coming. I suppose I can safely assume that hot sex wasn't a motivating factor."

"A lady should never divulge her private affairs," Blair said, looking up at the sky.

"_Right_." Chuck snorted. "I'm sure he's a _champ_ in the sack."

"Like I said. I'm not the type to dish. _But_—" Blair ran her finger around the rim of her champagne glass. "You know that thing? That one thing I would never let you do? Well, it turns out that I _love_ it." She smiled and tilted the glass up to her mouth.

Chuck was staring at her, his mouth agape.

"I mean—who knew?" Blair chimed effervescently. "It just goes to show you that you really should keep an open mind—"

"_Stop_," Chuck bellowed, his hands obscuring his face. "Just—stop!"

Blair stopped.

Chuck took a deep breath and let his hands fall away from his face, and then he looked up at Blair with wounded eyes.

"Blair." He cleared his throat. "I asked you to come back tonight because I thought you still cared about me. I thought…you might be able to forgive me. That we had a chance. To fix this. To fix _us_. To make things right. But if you only came here to _hurt_ me—mission accomplished, okay? You—you should just…go."

He turned his back to her and began to walk away, and Blair's heart felt as though it had been given a violent twist.

"You think your latest stunt didn't hurt _me_?" she cried after him. "You broadcast to the entire world that you slept with my _best friend_. How did you expect me to react to that?"

"I'm _sorry_!" Chuck yelled, whirling around and making a wild gesture with his arm.

"_Thank you_!" Blair yelled back. "_God_! You finally fucking said it."

They stared at each other for a few beats. Then they both began to laugh, shaking their heads at the absurdity of it all.

It wasn't cheerful laughter, not by any stretch of the imagination. But it was _something_.

"I…seriously haven't apologized to you yet?" Chuck asked. He couldn't believe that he had forgotten something so obvious.

"No," Blair said curtly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "You haven't."

"Blair—look, I'm sorry. You—you know that me and Serena...it didn't mean anything. I mean, you remember how I was when I was fifteen."

"Yes, I do. Sometimes I wish I didn't," Blair added. She shook her head, as if trying to expunge the memory of Chuck's rakish fifteen-year-old self. "But you should have told me _in private_ years ago. Or—" (she couldn't believe she was saying this) "you should have just kept it a secret forever. Anything but leaking it to Gossip Girl because you were having a jealous snit-fit!"

"I'm sorry," Chuck said in weak voice, and they both looked at each other and sighed. "Look, though, Blair—although I _recognize_ that I went about it in the worst way possible…"

Blair gave him a threatening look.

"I have to say that I _am_ glad that you finally know," Chuck finished lamely. "Not because I wanted to hurt you. But because it was the biggest secret I ever kept from you, and I'm glad I don't have to hide anything from you anymore. And—" he cracked a smile. "At least now I don't have to worry about you finding out…like, right before the wedding or something. Yes—" He cut her off, answering the question that she'd already opened her lips to ask. "—I _have_ imagined that scenario before. Several times, in fact. And even when the fallout is relatively mild—trust me, it's not pretty."

"Let me guess," Blair said. Her smile was devious, but her eyes were still filled with pain. "Ripped garments. Blood splatters. And torn-out strands of long blonde hair decking the floor of the vestibule."

"That's it," Chuck said, smiling a little.

Then his expression grew more serious, and the air between them suddenly felt a bit thicker.

"Blair," he began, and took a deep breath as if readying himself for a painful blow. "I want you to be honest with me. Let's—let's just get this over with. Are you—are you _in love_ with him?"

Blair let out a laugh. "No, Chuck. I—honestly, Dan Humphrey and I are just friends. Really."

Chuck looked at her in disbelief. "_What_? You mean you haven't—"

"_No_, Chuck," Blair responded wearily, rolling her eyes, "I didn't have _sex_ with him. We kissed. Once. And we decided that we're better off as friends." She paused, and then added in a lower voice, "Sorry I fucked with your head earlier."

Chuck was so relieved that he had to set his hand on the railing to keep his balance. "Does this mean—" he started to say.

"That I'll give you—that I'll give _us_—another chance?" Blair asked in a soft voice. Her eyelids lowered, and she let out a sigh. "I still care about you, Chuck," she said. "I still _love_ you. I just…I wish I knew that it would be different this time."

"It'll be different if we make it different, Blair," Chuck insisted. He came closer to her and enveloped her hands in his own. "Look—you and I—we're both passionate people. And we've both made our fair share of mistakes when it comes to each other." (Blair nodded at this.) "But our _feelings_ have never changed. From the first time we kissed—"

"You mean the first time we f—" she began to correct him, smiling knowingly, but he signaled her to stop.

"Blair, you know that I always appreciate a good sexual innuendo, but I'm trying to be romantic here," he said, smiling. "Listen to me."

Blair listened.

"It's always been you," Chuck said, looking into her eyes. "You're so close to me that—we're intertwined with each other. I don't know—where I end and you begin."

Blair let out a sigh, her eyes welling up with tears.

"We belong together, Blair," Chuck finished. "And I'm willing to do anything to make sure that we stay where we belong from now on. With each other."

"Chuck—" Blair broke in, her voice unsteady with emotion. "Dan once told me about this book he was reading."

Chuck's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at the mention of the other man's name.

"It was about an imaginary island," Blair continued in a slow, deliberate voice, "where the men leave for most of the year, and sail around the world. And the custom there, when a man falls in love with a woman, is for him to take a knife and slice her down the cheek. He leaves a scar on her face. So that everyone will know that he loves her and that she belongs to him. It's what they do instead of getting married."

"That sounds like a pretty barbaric place," Chuck interrupted, but she stopped him.

"It's an _imaginary_ island, Chuck. But just let me finish," she said, and resumed in her story-teller's voice. "Then one day a man who's never fallen in love before falls in love with a really beautiful, really headstrong woman."

"Sounds like a couple of people I know," he murmured, looking at her with soft eyes and letting his fingers trail down the length of her arm.

"And right before he leaves on a sea voyage they make love," Blair continued, moving her body closer to his. At this point their faces were only inches apart. "And afterwards he holds her face and he slices her cheek with his knife. But she wrestles the knife away from him, and she slices his face right back. _So_...they both scar each other. To say that they belong together. Forever."

She finished, and looked at him pointedly.

"Um, Blair—" Chuck said in a wary voice. "Are you saying—that you think that we should…_scar_ each other? To say we're…_forever_?"

"Chuck," Blair said in the soft gentle voice of a teacher. "You don't get it?" She traced the tip of a fingernail down his cheek. "We already have."

Recognition dawned in his eyes.

"We both have enough scars, Blair," he said to her, putting his hands around her face, his fingertips disappearing into her hair. "Let's not hurt each other anymore, okay?"

He tilted his head forward and kissed her, and she let out a soft murmur of gratitude against his lips. Wrapping her arms around him, she laid her palm on the back of his neck, and she pulled him closer until there was no space between them.

As their bodies surged together and their hands clutched at each other, as their mouths opened and tongues met, both of them felt as though they were melting together. As though they were one being of lava and of fire rather than two beings of flesh and of bone.

It felt so perfect, so _right_, that it was difficult for Chuck to break away from her, but he felt that he had something important to say.

"Blair, I want to build my future with you," he managed to say, but her mouth was already on his mouth again, her lips were opening his lips, and her tongue was sliding against his tongue in a hungry insistent motion that sent a tremor down his spine.

With a tremendous effort, he pulled away from her long enough to say—in a voice that was already breathy and ragged with desire— "Blair, did you hear me?"

"Yes," she said cheekily, her hands sliding down his chest to his belt, which she used to pull his crotch harder against hers. "Future, something, me, you. Got it."

Her mouth moved forward to capture his again, but he stopped her spite of the surge in his hardening cock.

"_What_?" she whined.

"Look, Blair—I don't want to do this just yet. Not until after we talk about why we called it off last time."

Blair looked at him, dumbfounded. "You. Chuck Bass. Want to _talk_ before we have sex."

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Not as hard as this," she said, kissing his neck and lowering her hand to his crotch and stroking his rigid cock through his pants.

"Blair," he said, arresting her hand. "Stop. I want us to talk about the future for a minute."

She stopped and looked up at him, trying to be patient.

"The sale of Bass Industries has opened up a lot of investment capital," Chuck explained. "I want to build up my reserves _now_ and, eventually, start my own business. Not my father's business—_my_ business. And I want you to do it _with_ me," he said, holding her hands and pulling them to his chest.

Blair let out a disappointed sigh. "I get it," she said in a knowing voice, as she wrested her hands away from him. "You want me to…stand by your side. Supporting you through thick and thin. That's…about what I expected." She blinked back tears.

"Blair—" Chuck was frowning. "_No_. That's not what I meant at all. You make it sound like I want you to just…_stand_ there. While I decide what to do. That would be—idiotic."

She gave him a baffled look.

"If there's anything I pride myself on as a businessman," Chuck continued, "it's that I understand my _assets_." There was no mistaking the _double entendre_: his hands slid down her back and massaged her tight derriere. "Blair, you're smarter than me. More methodical. Detail-oriented. And you're absolutely ruthless when it comes to getting people to do what you want."

"Wait—what are you saying?" Blair said in a quiet voice.

"I don't want you to _support_ me," Chuck said, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Blair—I want to us to be _partners_."

She was silent for a moment.

"You—you want us to build a business _together_?" she said slowly. Her eyes began to light up, but then she jerked herself out of the fantasy and shook her head at him. "Chuck, I don't know _anything_ about real estate."

"That's the beauty of it," Chuck insisted, tracing the line of her jaw with his finger. "It doesn't have to be real estate. It can be anything we want."

He let his hand glide over the skin of her neck to the smooth roundness of her shoulder. "Why should someone like you be interning at a fashion magazine when you could be running a fashion _house_?" He dropped his head to one side and softly kissed her underneath her ear.

Blair's mind began to churn over the myriad possibilities.

"We could do still do real estate," she said out loud, her eyes flickering open and shut with pleasure as Chuck's tongue trailed up her neck. "Luxury hotels. Luxury restaurants. Luxury _clothing_. It could be a lifestyle brand." Almost automatically her hands reached forward and began to unbutton his suit jacket.

"We'd be like David and Victoria Beckham," Chuck said in a breathy voice, trailing his hand down the soft skin of her chest. He began to stroke her through her plunging neckline, running the back of his hand back and forth across the swell of her breasts.

"Except with _class_," Blair corrected him, pushing his jacket over his shoulders, and he shrugged it off and let it fall to the floor.

"And natural breasts," Chuck said, eyeing her cleavage. He nuzzled into her neck and kissed the sensitive skin, moving his lips down over her collarbone and down the front of her chest. "You'd have your own perfume," he said against her skin. "Though I doubt anyone could do justice to your natural fragrance."

He pushed the fabric of her neckline aside and took one of her already-hardened nipples into his mouth, and Blair moaned and clutched the back of his head as he suckled her. After giving her other nipple a gentle bite, he raised his head and they kissed each other greedily, their tongues sliding back and forth against the other's.

His mouth still melded with hers, he reached up to his neck and loosened the knot in his bow tie, unraveling it quickly. He began to unbutton his shirt, starting at the top of the collar, but she tucked her fingers into the gap in the fabric and ripped it open.

Mother-of-pearl buttons scattered all over the deck like a tiny, precious sprinkle of rain.

She wrenched it off of him—hearing his cufflinks hit the deck as she yanked his wrists free of their confines—and she ran her hands up to his chest underneath his ribbed undershirt. She gave him a quick, hungry sort of kiss, and then pulled it by its hem over his head and arms, mussing his carefully coiffed hair in the process. Knotting her fingers into it, she gave his hair a quick yank, and he let out a soft cry of intermingled pleasure and pain.

"I'll be president," he said suddenly, slipping the straps of her dress over her shoulders and undoing her zipper with a quick flick of his wrist. "And you'll be CEO."

The red dress fell in a cascade to the floor, revealing Blair's lithe body. Still standing in her pumps, she wore only a lacy red thong, garter belt, and silk thigh-high stockings. Chuck pulled her flush against him, gasping at the pleasurable sensation of her bare breasts against his naked chest, and kissed her again, running his hand between their bodies to pinch at her nipple with his fingertips.

Blair broke away from him with a sharp yelp of pleasure. "Does that mean I'll be your boss?" she asked breathily, gazing at him with eyes hooded with lust.

"If you want to be," Chuck said, a wicked grin on his face. "I have to admit—I kind of _like_ that idea."

Without another word, she pushed him down to his knees, and he acquiesced, making a grateful noise. He cupped the back of her stockinged thighs with his palms, and nuzzled his face into her crotch, breathing in the scent of her arousal. "Oh, Blair," he sighed, and pulled aside the mesh fabric of her thong to run his tongue up the wet slit of her sex, and Blair involuntarily bucked against his mouth and let out an ecstatic cry.

Entangling her fingers in his hair, she let him stroke her several more times before she jerked his head back. "I can't wait," she said, trembling with anticipation. "I want you now."

Without a word he ripped the flimsy mesh of her thong and let it fall to the ground. She reached down to undo the clasp on her garter, but he stopped her. "Just leave them on," he said, kicking off his shoes, and pulled her down onto the carpeted part of the deck.

Pushing him onto his back, she undid his belt buckle, and pulled off his pants and briefs in one fluid motion. She threw a leg over his body, straddling him, and, as he put his hands around her waist, she took his erect cock in her hand and trailed its head down over her clit.

Chuck moaned. "We'll take over Manhattan," he breathed, reaching up with his hands to cradle her pert breasts.

"Why stop at Manhattan?" Blair asked, a dreamy, sexy look in her eyes. Setting him at her entrance, she shifted her hips and slowly lowered herself onto his cock. "We'll go _global_," she said, and both of them cried out in pleasure as he slid into her wetness.

They were a perfect fit, they both remembered instantly; they had always fit _perfectly_ together—and she groaned at the sensation of being _filled_ with him, of enveloping him inside of her. She was already so, _so_ close; she felt her interior muscles spasm, tightening onto him, grasping onto every inch of his rigid cock.

Throwing his head back, Chuck let out a moan as she began to ride him in an agonizingly pleasurable rhythm. "London?" He forced himself to ask, plainly trying not to lose control.

He lifted his gaze to her. Her hair had come down from its up-do; it was falling down, cascading over her shoulders. Her mouth was open; her cheeks were flushed red.

She nodded at him, her eyes fluttering shut, as she slid herself up and down, up and down his cock. "_Paris_," she breathed. Her face contorted, and she moved faster, clenching her teeth together in an underbite—something that Chuck instantly recognized as one of her telltale signs of an approaching orgasm.

He couldn't take it anymore—he caught her by the waist and flipped her over onto her back, ignoring her cries of protest, and thrust himself inside of her, and she let out a short, strangled moan of submission that told him that she was already on the threshold of oblivion.

"_Tokyo_," he exhaled into her ear, and fucked her hard, fucked her _fast_, until a series of incomprehensible noises rose from her throat, and she dug her nails into his back and let out a long, wavering note of ecstasy as she came, clenching him tight within the muscles of her sheath, and—even though he knew that it would push him over the verge—he watched her, watched her throw back her head, screw her eyes shut as if in the grips of an inexorable force, and he continued to thrust into her until she breathed out his name—a barely audible "_Chuuuck_"—and he couldn't help it; at that moment he was undone, and he cried out her name and erupted inside of her.

Afterward they lay silent for a few moments, still fused together, panting slightly, until he raised his head and looked at her. She looked up at him with dazed eyes; she purred softly, her legs quivering against his, her hand in his hair, and he was so grateful to have his woman back again that he laughed out loud and, cupping her cheeks with his hands, kissed her lovingly.

She kissed him back, and then looked up at him and smiled. "_Dubai_," she said.

He laughed again, and gently touched her face. "Endgame?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"_Empire_," she said, a look of wicked triumph in her eyes.

Chuck let out a slow, admiring exhalation. "You are _so_ the woman for me," he said, kissing her again. "I worship you, Blair."

"I know," she said smugly.

"Let's take over the world together," he said, still stroking her face. "Starting now."

"Starting tomorrow morning," Blair corrected.

He gave her a puzzled look.

"We've got a busy night ahead of us," she explained, giving him a dirty smile.

He pulled her tighter into his arms and kissed her like a waterfall. "I'm going to keep you awake till the sun comes up, Waldorf," he said.

"You'd _better_, Bass," Blair said. "When I told you I had a full evening planned, I meant every word of it."

* * *

Ta-da! And that's the last full chapter! But there will be a short epilogue coming soon, so tune in if you want to see Chuck and Blair the morning after.

As always, I would love your reviews! Especially if you've been reading my story over the past couple of weeks and haven't left a review yet. Please! It only takes two minutes, and it _so_ brightens up an author's day!


	16. Ever After

The promised epilogue, with some smut thrown in. 'Cause, why not?

At the Empire Penthouse.

* * *

Blair was in bed, reclining back, nearly supine, upon a stack of pillows. Her hair was tousled, her eyes were smiling, and her entire body was as limp as a rag-doll's. She was plainly in a state of post-coital bliss.

Clad only in undershirt of Chuck's—it hung loose on her, its sleeves coming down past her elbows—and a pair of his silk boxers—rolled several times at the waist to keep them taut on her hips—she was taking her breakfast in bed.

A panoply of trays from room service stood next to the bed, teeming with delicacies, most of which had already been sampled. Croissants. Ripe red strawberries. Soft-boiled eggs, delicately cradled in tiny sliver egg-cups; each accompanied by a tiny silver spoon and serrated knife. Cold cuts, dotted with oily specks of white fat. Plum preserves. Butter. Scones. Clotted cream. Mimosas, with shards of shaved ice floating on top.

With an expression of utter contentment, Blair licked a dab of the plum preserves from her index finger. "We really should do this more often," she said with a languorous sigh.

Chuck was sitting up in bed next to her, wearing a striped dressing robe, sipping an espresso, and reading the Wall Street Journal. "Do what more often?" he asked in a somewhat distracted tone, turning over a yellow-tinged leaf and scanning lines of figures.

"Um, have sex all night and gloriously feast in the morning?" Blair said, pointedly offering him the end of her finger, upon which rested a dab of fresh whipped cream.

He took her fingertip in his mouth and licked it clean, smiling at her. "I can't say that I'm opposed to the idea," he said, "but given that the business meetings I had scheduled for this morning have already been pushed back several hours, it'll have to be a special occasion sort of thing. Or I'll be bankrupt by 23."

Blair gave him a pouty look.

"Remember the endgame, Waldorf," Chuck reminded her, setting his newspaper and coffee aside. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and swung himself out of bed.

"Where are you going?" she called after him. "I thought we were going to—" (_cuddle_, she mentally supplied.) "You know. _Lounge_ together in bed all morning."

"Just going to grab my laptop," she heard Chuck yell from the other room. "I want to check a few things."

Blair took another bite of her pastry, looking thoughtful. "I hope you're not going to be _all_ business, _all_ the time," she yelled through a mouthful of blueberry danish. "If my experience at _W_ taught me anything, it's that all work and no play make Blair a…you know." (_Horny girl_, she mentally supplied.)

When, to her surprise, he didn't answer her, she realized that she was actually getting a little miffed. Chuck Bass was not one to pass up a sexual innuendo, especially when Blair Waldorf gave him such an easy opening. (_No, err, pun intended_.)

He must already be starting up again with new business plans, she realized with some disappointment. Well, that was the man she had chosen, and for good reason. He was just as relentlessly ambitious as she was.

Which meant that she was going to have to get used to being ignored sometimes.

Blair was frowning at this unwelcome thought when Chuck walked back into the room with his laptop. A gleam in his eye that told her something was afoot.

"I have something I want to show you," he said in his most conspiratorial baritone.

Some investment prospect, Blair realized grumpily, and saw her plan—to linger in bed all morning, cuddling with her (on-again) boyfriend—rapidly recede before her eyes.

Almost involuntarily, she shifted gear to "bitch."

"If it's your erect penis, I'll pass," she said, flicking her eyelashes at him dismissively.

"After last night's exertions, I can't say _that's_ a surprise," Chuck answered with a knowing smile. "My abs are so sore this morning I can barely bend at the waist. I can't imagine what you must be going through…."

As a matter of fact, Blair had already sent a text to Serena that morning, informing her not only of her reconciliation with Chuck ("dont u mean SEXconcilation?" the blonde had texted back) but also the unlikelihood that she would be able to walk straight for the next week.

At that moment, however, she didn't want to give Chuck that satisfaction.

"Well, it's not like an ab workout is going to _kill_ you," she said, sipping a mimosa. In response to his confused look, she heard herself speak in a voice that sounded (oh _God_) exactly like her mother's. "What? You know you have a tendency to get a little chunky around the middle." She once again nursed her mimosa, trying to assume an insouciant expression.

Chuck started at her for a beat, and then closed his laptop. "You know what, never mind," he said.

"_Chuck_—" Blair immediately cut in, rolling her eyes at herself. "I'm sorry. I—I really do want to know what you're excited about."

"I can't believe you just called me _fat_," Chuck said, giving her a hurt look that, to her relief, she realized had been manufactured for her sake. There was just the tiniest curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth that gave it away.

"No, I did not," she said in a pacifying tone. "I said you had _chunky tendencies_. There's a difference. But never mind what I said." She gestured at the laptop. "Show me the investment prospect that's currently captured your fancy."

"No," Chuck said obstinately, setting his laptop aside.

"Don't be like that," Blair said in a gentle voice. "We're building our futures together. Aren't we?"

Chuck pretended to think about it for a moment. "Well—okay," he assented. "But not until you reassure me how very, _very_ attractive you find me."

They regarded at each other for a moment. In spite of the fact that they had had strenuous intercourse four times the night before—once on the balcony, once on the sofa, once on the floor on the way to the bed (they never actually made to the bed—at least not until they went to sleep), and once in the sunken bathtub in the master suite—the sexual tension was already there, once again, buzzing between them like an electric current. Inexorable.

"Come here, _you_," Blair said in a soft voice, smiling. On her knees, she edged over to the side of the bed where he was standing.

He approached her, and she slid her palms up his chest and began to tug his robe apart, revealing his chest.

"While I may be more...vocal when it comes to expressing my admiration of _certain_ parts," Blair began, "I love every –" (she kissed him just under the collarbone) "last—" (his ribcage)—"inch of you."

She undid the knot of his robe and began to run her hands over his hirsute chest, pausing several times to kiss his skin, her lips creeping slowly downwards in an undeniable tease.

"Including your stomach," she finally added, sliding the robe off of him and gazing at his upper body admiringly, deciding, for the moment, to let him keep his boxers on.

(Blair actually did prefer a body type that wasn't super toned. From a logistical point of view, it just made sex more comfortable—and, if her amorous experience was any indicator, the guys that spent six days a week in the gym to carve out a six-pack were more often than not trying to make up for something else.)

"Mmm," Chuck purred at her, reaching down to stroke the soft curls of her hair. "Tell me what else you like about me."

"I _love_—" she corrected him, as her hands moved upwards to squeeze the musculature of his shoulders. "Your broad shoulders." Her fingers trailed over his collarbones. "And your neck. And how you get so flustered" (she rose up on her knees to imprint it with her mouth) "when I kiss it."

"No idea what you're talking about," he said in a somewhat uneven voice as her lips met his skin.

"And—" she sank back down on her haunches, her hands trailing back down over his chest and stomach. "Your narrow hips," she said, rubbing her palms on his hipbones, the pressure of her hands—and the proximity of her mouth—causing his cock to twitch and stiffen.

He tried to bend down and kiss her, but she arrested him by setting her palm against his chest. "Hey! I'm not done cataloging your hotness yet," she protested.

"Isn't my mouth part of your catalog?" he said, tilting her chin up with his hand. "You were certainly singing its praises last night." He kissed her, opening his mouth wide against hers to take in her thrusting tongue.

They kissed hungrily for a few seconds before she broke away from him with a gasp. "Your hot mouth," she conceded, with an expression that most people would read as anger but Chuck, from years of experience, knew to be unbridled lust.

She encircled his waist with her slender arms. Once again she began to kiss his stomach, and his cock was fully erect by now, pointing upwards like an exclamation point between her swaying breasts. He could see her hard nipples through the thin fabric of his shirt, and—God, he needed to get her to wear his clothes more often, something about the sight of her was driving him mad—and he let out a groan of impatience and desire.

"Your sexy little ass," he heard her growl against his stomach, and he felt her squeeze his ass with both hands and pull him even more tightly against her.

"Anything else?" he asked meaningfully, pulling away with her just enough to look down into her eyes.

In response she hooked her fingers into his waistband and pulled down his boxers down. His cock sprang out and she gently took him in her hand. She looked up at him, her lips slightly parted; she slowly moistened them with her tongue. "And your perfect cock," she said, forming an O with her mouth, and running his head around the inside of her lips.

Chuck moaned. "Oh, God, Blair," he managed to say, as she teased him, pursing her lips around the head of his cock, sucking it lightly, undulating her tongue against it.

"I love feeling you in my mouth," he heard her murmur breathily before she took him into her mouth again, and he felt himself grow even harder in response to the lewd talk (he mentally thanked himself for teaching her to talk dirty several years before), the rapturous look in her brown eyes as she looked up at him, the hot wetness of her mouth encasing his cock.

As she stroked him with her hand, she bobbed her head up and down on his shaft, taking him in more deeply at each pass. She steadily increased the speed of her rhythm, and he moaned in response to the synchronous motion of her hand and mouth.

He put his hands in her hair, and, realizing what he wanted to do, she set her hands on his hips. With a light touch she guided him forward and backward, and, following the rhythm she set, he thrust forward into the tight wet tunnel of her mouth. Watching his cock disappear behind her parted lips, he let out incredulous sounds, marveling at how deep she could take him inside of her.

After a few moments, she stopped to catch her breath, and she turned her attention to the head of his cock, flicking her tongue against its sensitive underside as she continued to slide her hand up and down his wet shaft.

When her other hand reached down to cup his balls he let out a ragged breath and groaned "Oh God, Blair. You have no idea how good that feels."

She released him from her tight mouth with a slight _pop_, continuing to stroke his shaft and balls, and smiled sweetly at him. "Mmm. I think I can guess, considering everything you've done for me in the past."

"What about now?" Chuck asked, clearly distracted by the deft motions of her hands. "Can I do something for you?"

"I don't know," Blair admitted, wincing. "I think I might still be too sore."

"Do you…think you might want to touch yourself?" he asked.

"Do _you_ want me to touch myself?" she asked, smiling, still pumping him with one hand and massaging his balls with the other.

"Um, _yes_," he said. "You know my policy."

"Ladies first?"

"Always. But if you keep up at this pace I'm going to violate my code."

"Mmm, the word _violate_ sounds so sexy when you say it," she said, again taking him into her mouth.

He let out a moan, but then stopped her, just long enough to pull his shirt over her head, and she rose up and stepped out of his boxers. Naked, she sat on the very edge of the bed, and parted her legs to reveal her sex as she once again enveloped him in her mouth.

He looked down and watched her reach down between her legs with her free hand and begin to massage her clit with two of her fingers. She shivered at the moment of contact, and he felt her mouth tighten on his cock. The sensation nearly sent him over the edge, and he screwed his eyes shut for a few seconds; the sight of her was just too much for him.

When he opened them he saw that her eyes were closed; in an alternating motion, she circled her fingers against her clit, then plunged them inside of her wet delta, thrusting in and out, and then returned to her clit. She repeated this, all the while sucking his cock, moving her hand and mouth up and down his shaft.

The frequency with which she fucked herself with her fingers increased, and she began to make desperate noises against his cock. The vibration sent a jolt of pleasure through his body, and he watched her, helpless, as her hand moved back up to her clit and her hips began to buck forward. Her entire body shook and convulsed in what was unmistakably an orgasm, and her mouth was _mmm_-ing in what would have been a scream had his cock not been in her mouth, and he pulled out of her so that he could hear her moan and mewl, and as she pumped him with her hand he came in a flood, moaning, shooting ropes of cum across her breasts.

She slowed her hand, milking the last few drops of cum from his cock, and he laid one of his hands on her shoulder to steady himself and looked at her, gasping for breath.

With a smile she leaned forward and kissed him just above the navel. "I really do love your stomach," she said.

"You'd better," he returned, stroking her face with the back of his hand. He reached down and picked up the shirt that she'd been wearing, and, kneeling, wiped his cum off of her breasts.

When he was done, he tossed it aside. Kissed her.

"I love you," he said, looking into her eyes.

"I love you," she said. "Now show me what you were going to show me."

He smiled, and grabbing his laptop off of the table, he climbed into bed with her. He reclined back onto the pillows (pulling her naked body against his) and he opened the laptop, clicked open his browser and typed into an address.

"Wha—_you_ read the Sartorialist?" Blair asked, shocked.

Chuck gave her a look. "Do you seriously think I dress as well as I do without doing any research?" he asked. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted..."

"Be flattered," she said. "But why are we looking at it now?"

"It's what I wanted to show you," he said. "Check this out."

With her head against her shoulder, Blair looked at the screen. Her eyes widened.

It was a photo of her. In her chic outfit from the day before, in front of the terminals at La Guardia.

She was looking down at her cell phone. There was an expression of slight annoyance on her face—a crinkle between her eyebrows, a pout of the lower lip—that somehow made her appear even more beautiful. Her windblown curls, perfectly framing her face, her rosy cheeks, the bright turquoise of her skirt—all of it combined to make her look _alive_, youthful, glowing, like a jewel set in the gray of the sidewalks, the clustered groups of monochrome smokers.

In the sky above her head, a plane gleamed, like a metallic bird in the sky.

It was more than just a good photo. It was _iconic._

The headline over the blog post was **I 3 NY. **

The caption underneath:

_I usually don't post photos within 24 hours, but this is a notable exception. _

_The first thing I saw when I stepped out of the airport this morning was this lovely brunette in a simply gorgeous ensemble. Look at the cut of that skirt, the color palette, the shoes. Breathtaking. Everything about it makes me feel like New York is welcoming me back, urging me to spend more time walking its streets with my camera in hand. _

_Could this be your new it-girl, Manhattan? _

"Oh my God," Blair murmured, in a state of utter bliss.

"Check out the first comment," Chuck said, scrolling down. It read:

_You honestly don't know who _that_ girl is? You've been spending too much time in Europe, Schuman. That's Blair Waldorf. Columbia-n princess. __The__ Queen B of the Upper East Side. _

_Stick around Manhattan for a while; you're bound to run into her again. And be sure to take your camera. She always looks this perfect, if not more so._

Blair giggled. She took the laptop from Chuck and gazed at the screen. "I can't believe it," she said rapturously. "I'm on the Sartorialist!" She let out a squeal of delight.

"There's more," Chuck said, in a tone of unabashed pride. "Scroll down to the next comment."

She did. It read:

_Best known for her impeccable fashion sense, but her gift for witty repartee could make Oscar Wilde look like a slack-jawed cretin._

"And the very last," Chuck said. It read:

_The only woman who could ever commandeer Chuck Bass's heart._

It was signed with a pair of initials. CB.

She looked at him. "Really?" she asked, her eyes luminous with love.

"You shouldn't even have to ask," he said, and kissed her yet again.

And at that moment Blair Waldorf thought she might die from happiness.

* * *

Thus ends my very first fanfic! Thanks for keeping me company along the way, guys! I've loved it!

And once again, I'd love to hear back from you. So if you've enjoyed it, leave me a review.

xoxo,  
terrabeth


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